#He stands somewhere in the middle which is a pretty much impossible place to be in)

[calico-fiish]

Con planning!!

[gatheringfiki]

The following ficlet was written by @metztlilua based on this photoset.

Fili/Kili, Rating TBC

You might also be able to read this story on AO3.

If you’ve enjoyed this story, please leave a comment either in replies or on AO3. :)

Like a Song Stuck in my Head

—

Thursday, September 7th, 15:00 PM

When Fili decided to pack as much stuff as could fit in his bags on a whim in the middle of August; he didn’t imagine that the first problem that would come from moving away from his country and halfway to the other side of the world (but not quite) would be the weather change yet, as he stands at the airport in Ireland the sun is pretty much the same as in New Zealand; bright and warm but his hair and the suitcases (more like bags) containing his whole life are dreading the wind and humidity of the place, he huffs tying his hair back in a low ponytail and writing down in his mind notes to “cut this thing off” because well if he did just leave his friends family, job and everything he knew then why not cut his hair too?

He grabs a cab at the airport and hands a paper with the address to his new building; smiling all the way there; the wind and the impossibly TOO humid weather will definitely be annoying but compared to his problems in New Zealand it feels like nothing.

Friday, September 8th, 06:00 AM

A second problem arises the same day (technically the next) at around midnight; when he’s supposed to be sleeping but instead; he is tossing and turning in his bed; having left New Zealand on thursday; traveled for a whole day on the plane and then arrived in Ireland on Thursday again doesnt seem as cool as it did earlier and he huffs annoyed; staring up at the cealing, his eyes burn and his head throbs; probably his clenched jaw is at fault but what can he do? he slept as much as he could on the plane and now he’s both freezing and too hot at the same time and the bedsheets are too itchy; he whines and hits the matress twice in exasperation.

The blonde stopped can’t tell exactly which hour is it; he stopped staring at the clock at around 3 AM and resigned himself to the idea that he’d have to show up to work not having slept a wink; but as the sun started to show up at his window; his eyes finally start falling closed and his breathing relaxed. That is tho; for only a few minutes until at around 6:00 AM he hears it first; the stupid beeping, then again at 6:05 AM, and then, at 6:10 AM when he feels he’s gonna HAVE to get out there and smash whatever (he knows its an alarm clock) is making that grating noise to pieces; it stops. Or it stops for long enough for Fili to breathe in and get a second to relax again; thinking he might recover his sleep he closes his eyes turns to his side and smashes a pillow over his head hoping for at least a full hour of sleep before he absolutely HAS to wake up; but then he can hear it a second time; this one is a thud; followed by “oww” and then the most nightmare-inducing; teeth clenching sound one could possibly hear; the synching of a bluetooth speaker and the hit of a base so loud it makes him want to claw his eyes out.

It’s six AM, not a single day AFTER he has arrived in Ireland and Fili has found another problem.

this one is far more complicated.

Friday, September 15th, 16:00 PM

A week after his arrival; the blonde has gotten used to the drizzle and wind that accompany his every living moment; he’s cut his hair short and it stopped puffing to twice it’s size which is nice; and that hour difference feels like nothing now that he has gotten the right amount of sleep; still there is one thing that bothers him far more than he wants it too; at first Fili had let himself believe it was just because he hadn’t slept very well that he was annoyed by his noisy neighborBut as much as he tried, every morning after the alarm beeped at least three times before -whoever- was making all this damn noise and this person got up and hit themselves somewhere; Then turned on the speakers and the base hit again; Fili felt any spirit to continue breathing leave his body.Of course he didn’t want to complain to his landlord so soon but that composes a problem for him and his already not so good sleep schedule.

sadly, because Fili really doesnt sit right with the snitching whitout KNOWING what the deal about his neighbor is he needs to conduct an investigation first

-oh the kid from 47? yeah, we hate him…

so the first of his interviews with the otherwise nice and very elderly mrs. Patterson did NOT go very well; he learns that there are rarely other people in the floor because he chases every other tenant away; he also learns he is a guy in his early twenties and he’s in college; fili knows he’s “handsome but the most annoying man I’ve met” according to her; she also claims he just needs someone to teach him manners “one way or another”Which he’s not sure why Mrs. Patterson would be so insistent on; raising a hand and bringing it back down to smack the air while wiggling her eyebrows at him; but he tries his best to hide his blush and continue his interviews.

Sunday October 1st, 10:00 AM

It takes two weeks but Fili thinks he’s got it figured out; he’ll write a text to his landlord and ask to be moved at least three doors down from guy since there’s no one else living there; that way he keeps his rent cheap; recovers sleep and his landlord doesn’t lose a paying tenant.While crafting this text (Fili is an over thinker what will you do? He’s drafted it at least seven times on his writting pad) he learns more and more about his mysterious neighbor thanks to the input of other people on the building.He knows know he’s very funny, studying architecture; has long brunette hair; and has a terrible singing voice; that he actually heard for himself one august night when he comes back late from a shift at the station and the brunette is completely butchering the song king and lion-heart by of monsters and men; his voice not quite high enough to match the one in the song cracks every other lyric and if it wasn’t because Mr.Wilkerson from the floor above was looking directly his way; he might have smiled fondly because he loves that song.He drafts another text that same night but decides it’s too stern and he needs to be more friendly in his tone.

Sunday; October 15th, 23:00 PM

Fili has crafted what he thinks it’s the winning  message on his way back home after grocery shopping and he feels like the tone is finally right now; not too harsh but decidedly pissed and in need of assistance. He’s so sure he’s gonna send it that this time he even starts to type it to his landlord; he knows it’s the weekend and it’s very late at night but as he lays in bed he figures tomorrow morning he’d just read it and give him an answer.How long could it take?He’s so convinced it’s gonna work he let himself check the rents for the other rooms and even had a little online tour and when he’s ready to hit send he hears it yet another time; it’s like a horror movie; the keys to the door on his neighbor’s house clink at the door and he struggles to open like it’s not his own place which makes Fili huff annoyed-here; let me help you- he hears him say after a few failed attempts accompanied by a shy, small laugh of whoever (definitely a chick; the blonde catches himself thinking) is with himThe door finally opens; and then it slams loudly; a second thud in the same place comes after that one  and it makes the blonde wonder (he knows it’s a body pressed against the door) what it is.The noise stops altogether again and he almost lets it go.Almosthis curiosity gets the best of him when he hears another door creaking and the radio being turned on and landing in whatever song was available which; weird as it sounds, seems unlike guy from 47. He gets up from his bed and as quietly as he can he comes closer to the wall that connects the apartments; leaning as close to the tiny air vent as he can in his tipy-toes; the noise from the radio makes it hard to hear anything else; but Fili can almost make out clothes falling on the floor and shoes flying off and lastly zippers; Plural. then the bed springHe might be drunk.Fili assures himself; not entirely understanding WHY he cares at all; tho when he starts making out the sound of the bed springs more and more he finds the reason why. His cheeks starts to heat up and he must be red in the face if not everywhere else because his neighbor is so loud in bed he can hear it OVER the radio; his moans cover his companions; combined with the song (knee socks by arctic monkeys which makes a shiver run down the blondes spine as he huffs out warm air; forehead still pressed to the wall he wonders what kind of coincidence this is) and the bed frame hitting the wall have Fili almost falling backward and to his bed.That day he learns his neighbors name in not such a pleasant way as it’s screamed over and over by his somehow equally loud companion

Kili. Kili. Kili

He deletes the message he had drafted and puts down in his mind notes to “make this guy pay”Before he goes back to bed and decidedly DOESNT sleep; dreading every sound out of the continuos wall.

Tuesday; October 17th, 7:00 AM

It’s one particular October morning when everything starts to shift; the cold weather has Fili wishing he didn’t have to go to work; he rubs his eyes for the millionth time and yawns; this morning he was first greeted with the beastie boys (no sleep till Brooklyn) which had been quite the spectacle; then a phone call that he couldn’t hear a word about but seemed quite heated; and then he was accompanied by the Beatles’ I’ve just seen a face as he had breakfast and he chuckled to himselfIt’s a cuestionable song; he hates it but more than anything he’s just very curious about Kili’s (which again how. HOW is it that; he asked at least 10 people but no-one knew his name?! They could hear him the other day too right?!) music tasteHe sips on his coffee with a half smile as the (bad) singing continues.

Had it been another dayI might have looked the other wayAnd I’d have never been awareBut as it is I’ll dream of HIMTonight, di-di-di-di'n'di

He’s not quite sure he heard that correctly with the walls and the distance and whatnot; but he swears he sings “him” and Fili will never admit it but he feels his heart skip; and as much as he wants to avoid it he ends up playing the song at least five times that week at the station.

Sunday; November 5th; 12:00 AM

Over the course of the prior months; Fili learned enough about his neighbor that he was once again stumped on what to do; on the one side he had almost already forgotten what was he so mad about in the first place, Kili’s feet are made out of led for some reason; he’s almost constantly (and as loud as possible) on the phone and god if he’s loud in bed (the blonde may or may not have had to leave the house altogether; pressing down his more than obvious boner inside his pants on his way out) and Fili can’t wrap his head around WHY can’t he just fucking move whatever it is that he hits himself with every morning and his taste in music was odd at best but it gives him ideas of songs to play at the station and it’s better than any alarm clock he’s ever owned, added the fact that he’s a little scared of the rest of the people who live in the building;  especially the ones in the floor below them. He had at least five conversations go completely sideways where people told him he should just complain to the police and that they have tried too but it never worked“If we want that little shit out…the key might be numbers” had said a man in his forties; fluffy curly hair, nervous tick had him leaning back and forth with his arms crossed over his velvet vest and the most tired eyes one could see (the blonde imagines he’s the poor soul who lives right below Kili)But as Fili passes by the door on his way up; he smells chocolate  and he can’t help but smile, wondering. He’s almost tempted to knock on the white door; the number 47 engraved in a golden plaque It’s the only familiarity he has with the kid; he even asked his landlord if he knew anything about him but got a very sketchy “why you wanna know? Is that fucker causing trouble again?!” Which he couldn’t understand because he’s just a kid. Maybe an annoying one but how can people hate him so much?It’s just noiseFili can’t quite get why is it that people have it against Kili if his apartment smells like cookies or brownies and his songs are not bad…and the way his voice cracks trying to reach high notes it’s just adorably irresistibly….cuteOh noIt’s been two months now…and not that Fili cared enough to keep counting them but he’s found yet another problem.

Friday; December 1st 18:00 PM

Filis birthday always (or at least since he turned 21)  comes a some sort of biter sweet feeling;for one reason or another there’s a sad feeling accompanying him and this year the reason is clearHe’s new in town; He has few friends and so he thinks he’s gonna have to celebrate his birthday alone or that is until after his shift it’s over; he’s hanged around the studio dreading going home and pretending he’s busy (because he’s scared he’ll either bump into Kili or not bump into him at all) for about three hours when the sound tech guy; Ori is his name; offers him a little smile-you’re Fili the new locutor right? - the blonde smiles openly as he was trained by his new manager; claiming pictures of him were going on adds so he might as well get used to it “that’s me” and when Ori asks him what he’s doing there if his shift is over; big caramel eyes and inquiring look staring at him he can’t help but tell him everythingThat ever since his sudden discovery he’s been obsessively listening to his next door neighborThat he now finds his three alarms and his clumsiness and his voice over the vent kind of adorable. He also tells Ori about the voice cracks and how undeniably irresistible he finds them and how if he goes home he might spend the rest of the day glued to the wall; just listening-that sucks…- Ori replies; puzzled, probably not expecting to hear Filis life story but open to do so anyway - drinks?He smiles lopsided; there’s a certain innocence to his smile that his eyes don’t convey; his eyes look mischievous; but fuck if Fili is spending his birthday alone- definitely

Friday; December 1st 22:00 PM

And I will give up this fight!Cause I can’t make you love me if you don’tYou can’t make your heart feel something it won’t!!

The lights of the crappy karaoke stage hit his face so intensely he almost forgets there are other people there and definitely listening to his unnecessary heartbreak song; The blonde tries his best to remember the lyrics as drunk as he is but it’s gotten very difficult to follow a single thought line; let alone a full song by a band he doesn’t even like that much and even tho people clap for him (because he has a good voice even if he’s hammered) he knows that was probably the most awkward thing he’s doneSo he comes down from the stage; tumbling over his own feet and barely being catched by Ori; who just laughs dumbly at his “ohmygoshthankyou” as they make their way out the bar arms thrown over each others shoulder to avoid the other from falling.

Saturday; december 2nd 02:00 AM

HOW did Fili manage to get back to his apartment; he’s not sureThe ground feels like it’s moving under him and the rooms spin while he walks thru the lobby and into the stairs to the second floor; he catches himself on walls and pot plants and even knocks over one of Mrs. Patterson’s Christmas decorations but he finally makes it to the doorOr at least A doorNumber 47 stares back at him as he leans against the frame; a wave of nausea hitting him so hard he feels he’s gonna puke then and there; the only thing stopping him from emptying the contents of his stomach or even breathing too loudly is the fact that Kili could walk out (or come back equally drunk) and see him in this terrible state and he won’t allow that.Whatever it is that helps him finally get off of the frame and balancing in his feet again he doesn’t know what it is but he thanks it deeply.Finally; he calms down enough for the room to stop spinning for a second which he makes sure to use to make it past the door like it’s haunted and disgracefully as possible make it to his apartment and push in thru the door tripping over his own misplaced boots and bumping into his kitchen table where he left all his notes and his next shows script half written. Adding as many songs as he heard from Kili’s apartment hoping he might hear his show one day.

Ugh; He’s so hopeless it’s disgusting.

He thinks plumping down on the chair letting his face fall forehead first to the table and landing on his scribbled down notes; his breathing calm even though he feels like he will die in a pool of his own puke and sweat. He almost wants to stay there and fall asleep but his back; just like his tummy probably won’t forgive his drunken endeavors and he’d rather have one pain at a time. Thank youAs he gets up; his eyes opening slowly to find a piece off sticky note on his forehead he gets the most amazinglyDrunkenStupidly amazing idea

Saturday; December 2nd. 13:00 PM

It’s noon when Kili finally resigns to open his eyes; the dark curtains show only a sliver of light but he knows it’s probably later than he should stay in bed for.Sundays are Kili’s calmer day; no work or school or his mom and uncle Thorin pushing for details of his personal life or the reason why hes not flying or driving back home for christmas over the phone. He’s happy as he can be (or as much as his overtired body and the constant preassure of the million of tasks hes left on hold let him) as he leaves his bed; completely ignoring his phone falling down from the covers he just threw off his body or his downstairs neighbor banging something against his floor; most likely a broom; he can almost imagine Mr. Baggins atop his kitchen table cursing him off which makes him chuckle now more than it made him worry when he was new in the building; moving to live alone all the way from Clondalkin and to Dublin; lately Kili’s been so unbothered by verything around him that its not until after he’s had a shitty breakfast consisting of cofffe and a muffin and watched at least three episodes of a crappy sitcom on TV; while sprawled out on the couch; that he notices it.

The tiniest of blue squares; sitting peacefully yet disruptive on top of the red carpet like it was purposly placed there for him to go crazy. He gets up slowly like the piece of paper will fly off if he makes a false move but to his almost too dumb surprise; it stays there, unaffiliated to Kili’s belongings; he crouches down to grab it and almost dismisses it as nothing; the sticky side of the sticky note on top and nothing in it; if not for the scribles in the back of it that he catches by mistake maybe

“I love to walk by your apartment everyday; You have the weirdest, most interesting and cool music taste i’ve heard” - Fili.Ps: You should listen to GIRLFRIEND- by repeat repeat

a smile spreads over Kili’s face even faster than the blush does

who is Fili anyway?

Saturday; December 2nd. 14:00 PM

Fili’s morning starts as dreadfull as he thought it would; for starters its not even morning anymore when finally the gurgle on his stomach forces him to bolt to the bathroom to empty the sandwich and at least 2 liters of alcohol he had the night before; then, as he’s pitifully getting up from the bathroom floor; puke in his shirt collar and somehow hair; a wave of memories comes crashing down on him and he winces out loud; remembering he for some reason told one of his COWORKERS about the kid he’s been stalking thru his wall because he heard him having sex once (this last part Fili actually left out). His brain hasnt even reached the part of the day/night where he was drunk and he already wants to crawl under the floor boards and die of embarrasment.

He makes an effort to check his phone and sees at least a hundred texts from both Ori and his boss; asking him where he is, how he is and if hes good to cover the night shift at the station; he isn’t but he’d rather not be home at the moment so he fights thru the pain of a cold shower (where more painful memories of awkward convo with Ori and him singing karaoke and almost falling down from the stage haunt him) and forces himself to eat at least something before leaving the house in a rush; stopping only for a second at door 47 where the worse of the memories hit him.

Oh no

He rushes past the door and out the building not caring how much his head hurts and the way his stomach tumbles as he does. Remembering he slid a note from under the door but god what did it say?!

—-

On the other hand; Kili has managed thru at least a movie that he forced himself to watch before even checking the note again to see if it magically changed and revealed the identity of the author; he tries to see it as coldly as possible; remembering himself his neighbors don’t USUALLY like his loud music; especially the guy from 48 who last time Kili checked  (he doesn’t notice much) was a huge man with a Scottish accent and head tattoos that very calmly told him “kid if I hear your shit past 9PM again I’ll thump you so hard you’ll pick up your teeth of the floor” which makes him think it’s probably no one from the adjacent apartments.Definitely he needs some baking supplies.

Wednesday; December 6th 21:00 PM

It’s not until Friday of the next week; that Kili can finally put his plan to action; he’s officially out of school projects to do and his mom has finally resigned that he can’t leave work for this Christmas and she’ll have to make do alone; he’s baked at least five batches of brownies and put them in  little baggies to soften up his more than likely angry neighbors.He starts with the most obvious of choicesHis downstairs neighbor, Mr. Bagging; who upon seeing him at the door very calmly says “good day” and slams his door shut. And makes his way up; getting more than one eye roll but even more smiles as he mumbles “I’m sorry for all the noise….”His brownies run out before he reaches the author of his note and he starts to think he might just have to ask his landlord tho the thought of him cursing Kili out for scaring away his tenants and making it clear he’s only letting him stay as a favor to Thorin has him reconsidering.

Saturday; December 9th, 17:00PM

Fili has been dreading every morning when he passes by the neighbors door either morning or night; his drunken brain blurring out the only part of the night he cares to remember about it’s such a betrayal from his own body that he’s almost too annoyed to feed it or let it sleep. On the other hand and the most likely reason for his sudden lack of appetite might be the fact that he hasn’t heard Kili’s stereo once over the past week; it’s like he’s gone (pun intended) radio silent and he wonders if it was his stupid note’s fault.If the kid is itching to move places thanks to Fili’s "I like how you sound in bed" draft of a note he found (he hopes that wasn’t the final version).

There’s one slightly plus side and that is Ori and him have really grown closer after their drunken endeavors and Fili likes having him as a friend; he’s wicked and has weird sense of humor that only parents who are TOO strict can give and Fili lives for it; the brown eyed has told him his boyfriend (guy Fili hasn’t gotten a chance to meet) had a neighbor just like that and he had been the reason why he finally agreed to move in with him so he understands liking him.He even suggests his neighbor (who to Ori it’s still named 47 to avoid any painful details)  might have just gone home for the holidays which does calm him down for about a day before he comes back and the door it’s closed but he hears Kili moving around.

His case seems so absolutely hopeless he has stopped passing by that door altogether; opting for the stairs instead of the elevator cause at least that way he might lose some weight; he’s even considering going back home to visit his parents for the holidays but that feels like too much of a defeat as he; pitiful as it looks; places his ear on the conjoined wall of the apartment; he hears nothing but there’s a faint wafting smell of chocolate again and Fili wishes it was him Kili was baking for.At the end of the day; on a rushed decision; he asks to work the Christmas shift because god; he’d rather be alone at the studio than face his awkward situation.

Sunday; December 24th 15:30 PM

Another week has come and flown by and all Kili can do is bake brownies; apologize to his neighbors with a plate of them and listen to Fili’s song on repeat; he’s even broken out his old beat up headphones. Now that he’s faced the victims of his morning concerts (or late nigh porn shows) he’s far more conscious about the ruckus he causes for them all; he’s made it from door 37 back to door 30 which is the floor right below him that MIGHT hear him; and then back from 37 where again mr. Baggings planed on slamming a door to his face but stopped mid action once he smelt brownies “don’t know who your looking for…kid; put on headphones and ask the landlord”, to the 39th door and up to his floor where he’s only missing a few doors but he’s seriously down on brownies or baking supplies and definitely out of money to buy more; its a thing of chance; he tells himself. He has one plate of brownies left and if whoever its down in door 49 its Fili then he has a good presentation; if its not him then hes gonna have to start all over agan…or even ask Mr. Dwalin on door 48 which hes not so keen on.

He sighs trying to calm himself down; dumbly brushing a stary hair behind his ear and bitting his bottom lip

why is he so nervous? its just a note

the door opens after a few (increasing in volume) tries to reveal one very annoyed in the middle of home dying her hair Mrs. Patterson

-can I help you?! - she asks sarcastically; definitely not who Kili was expecting to see but he makes a mind note to “learn neighbors doors numbers better” -kid?!?

he notices hes been silent for a few seconds; disapointment and shock probably plasterred in his face

-uh…no..I mean I just wanted to bring these as a peace offering…you know for all the noise?? - he smiles dumbly at her; pushing the plate forward then taking it right back since her hands are busy holding her hair in place - sorry…. i’ll just…

A wicked smile plasters across her face and she moves to the side inviting him to come in in a sort of compliant manner; pointing to the kitchen table with a head nod she finally speaks

-he finally got thru to you huh?- it takes Kili a sec to even understand what shes asking; its like a code of some sort and he has to pause; puzzled he stares at her with his head tilted to the side as he puts the plate down- you know…cute blonde next door?

the brunette almost lets out a laugh; because number 48 its most definitely NOT a cute blonde but a grumpy old man with the weirdest haircut and a kilt…right?Right?

-oh honey…you don’t even know who lives next door to you huh? He’s working I think but he should be back soon- and she winks at him; hands still on her head as she nudges him out the door -good luck!

Sunday; December 24th 15:45 PM

Kili stares at his sticky note; feeling slightly stupid and worried about the time it took him to even NOTICE he had a different neighbor; definitely a little scared since he’s never seen him before and not quite sure why his heart flutters at the idea of someone liking what everyone else seems to hate about him; he shakes his head and walks to the door; the number 48 giving him bad vibes as he crouches down; ready to slide his note 

“Hey, Fili (cool name btw) Thank you for saying that haha…Everyone else seems to hate itWould you like to come hang out maybe listen to some music?  _ yes  _no.“ Kili.Ps: listen to lovesong - The cure. 

and hoping for the best when the door flings open and Fili looks puzzled at him-may I help you…? - he smiles; looking down at crouched on his knees; brunette with a stuble; tall definitely very handsome neighbor; probably wondering what this random guy is doing by his door; then he sees the note in his hand and a blush creeps rapid to his cheeks 

no fucking way 

- is that for me…?

He chuckles at Kili´s equally blushed face as he stammers "well yeah i think so” getting up and scratching his side anxiously 

- Fili…?- he mumbles and the blonde nods slightly; eyes widened as he gets the note practically shoved on his face  and he reads it; Kili staring intently at blonde short hair and a tan; not quite sure where he´s seen him before or if his stricking blue eyes are what have his stomach flipping 

-i´d love to hang out!- Fili smiles widely; almost forgetting that he was about to bolt thru the door because hes late to work on the one day he thought he wouldnt run into him -oh but…im late for work! 

they stand there; awkwardly for about a second; Fili cant stop staring at the note on his hand; when another wonderful; stupid and not so drunken idea hits him -come with me? 

Sunday; December 24th 20:00 PM

When Kili finally got to put a face on the letters he´d been staring at for the past two weeks; he was sure he´d been “christmas miracled” or something; he´d never seen a man so stupidly hot let alone one that didnt find him annoying and  it was messing with his brain. 

Whatever the reason he had for saying “Yes” to hanging out at this random guys (Fili´s) work place he isnt sure 

yet hes glad he did; when they finally pull up at the tall building the “radio city” sign blinking and right next to it a billboard with Fili´s face and the lines -MEET THE ROOKIE- 

ohhh

They come in thru the employees parking lot and are greeted by a single security guard who leans on his rolie chair; feet up on the lobby desk and pipe in hand; the floor is empty and mostly dark except for a solitary christmas three; standing right behing a santa´s chair that is accomodated afot of the stairwell to come up to the cabins; Bofur; as his name tag reads, doesnt even seem to acknowledge Kili, definitely not an employee; acompanying Fili up to his floor and to his Cabin where they both sit quietly for a second as he sets up his headphones and microphone; having to work with no tech guy  for the 24th and 25th seemed far worse before he finally got Kili; smilling and staring at him with wild hair to sit next to him 

-Welcome everybody; and thank you for keeping me company on this cold winter night; today instead of yapping for hours, I would like to start the night with a very special song;  recommended to me by someone equally special. 

Fili makes his way to a vynil case he has next to his soundboard and takes out the Cure´s “disintegration” album; smilling at Kili´s now fully red face as the lyrics start to play 

Whenever I’m alone with youYou make me feel like I am home againWhenever I’m alone with youYou make me feel like I am whole again

He makes sure to mute his microphone to be able to speak to him; this being the first time they´ve actually had a conversation face to face since…well earlier; he isnt sure what to say really; as the younger stares around the booth; the blinking red light of the ON AIR button hitting his face intermitenlty making his face light up int he most enticing way

-well…nice to meet you…-Fili smiles dumbly; loving the little laugh out of the brunette as he covers his face; hidding his almost permnent blush 

-oh my god! i hear your show all the time at work…- he finally chokes out; every word he´d been choking down finally spews and he stares back puzzled 

- most my songs i heard them here first but you never say your name!! im sorry im so noisy…also I suck at singing I…had made brownies but i had so many people i pissed off I…

and every thought he´s had for the past hour (weeks); making the blonde laugh openly; placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing lightly -hey…its ok; I love your voice - Fili looks directly into brown eyes; avoiding the fact he just said VOICE and not SINGING VOICE beacuse lets face it; Kili is a terrible singer but the blonde its gotten so addicted to the low tone of his voice he doesnt even care. 

They sit peacefully; listening to the song and Kili is SO glad that they are hanging there instead of anywhere else; the quietness (and privacy) of the place and the numerous christmas decorations; surrounded by maybe full days of music they could listen to, and the hand on his shoulder that he doesnt care to shake off; if anything he wants Fili to touch him more and everywhere else; for now he settles into leaning into his side; eyes closing slowly hoping the other man has the same idea. 

and when lips crash into his he feels fireworks go off at the back of his head and his tummy do one more tumble 

Whenever I’m alone with youYou make me feel like I am free againWhenever I’m alone with youYou make me feel like I am clean again

Fili hears the ending of the song approaching; and as sad as he is about it he pulls away. continuing his show and settling for staring at Kili every now and then as he continues for the day; only happy he wont be alone 

BONUS

Monday; December 25TH 21:00 PM 

-oh. My, God - Fili hears the voice of his sound tech guys (who was supposed to be out for the holidays coming from outside the glass window; probably referring to the fact hes sleeping on the floor of the cabin; candles and the cups provided by the office filled with shitty coffe everywhere; the On air light off but music playing loudly.  Or maybe; and most likely; the fact that he has Kili lying shirtless (and more naked but not noticeable thanks to the blanket he brought from his apartment on his morning coffe run) next to him - Fili…? 

and then; yet ANOTHER and much more strepid voice - YOU!! - pointing at Kili who looks wide eyed at the man who Fili supposed its Ori´s boyfriend - You little noisy shit!! i lost my deposit cause of you!!

[shwoo]

Grumpus Headcanons (2/3)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Part two of unnecessarily detailed Bugsnax headcanons, and I had second thoughts about splitting it into three after sleeping on it, but ph well! Too late to change it now!

But I will put part of it under a readmore, because even if the word count isn't quite in the thousands, it's still a big wall of text.

I only arranged these by character surname by surname so that Jamfoot The Secret Guy wouldn't be first, but... I guess putting him exactly in the middle didn't work out how I wanted either.

Character Headcanons (Alegander Jamfoot - Shelda)

Alegander Jamfoot He was not expected to survive being stationed in the Triplicate Space. Maybe he was too openly ambitious, or saw something he wasn't supposed to, or was just kind of annoying. He knows he upset someone, which is why he suspects it's a punishment. It's normally almost impossible to survive on Snaktooth Island alone for more than a few months, because the less outside stimulation someone has, the easier it is for the cravings to take precedence. Jamfoot lasted more than a year in part because he was so focused on his research, but he was already experimenting with eating Bugsnax when Bronica's expedition came along. If they hadn't given him something else to think about, he definitely would've died.

Journalist Their most successful story is probably the Soylent Grump story Lizbert mentions in the opening. Soylent Grump was a meal replacement that the manufacturers claimed was made of soy and lentils, but according to rumours, it was secretly made of Grumpuses. Grumpus DNA was eventually found in some of the products, which didn't help. The Journalist ended up breaking into the main factory, and discovered… that Soylent Grump was made of soy and lentils. But also, the safety standards were so bad that bits of factory workers were ending up in the food. Once they knew that, the Journalist found a whistleblower and published an exposé. They believe that this proves that there's always a story, even if it's not the one you expected. Clumby thinks they got lucky.

Bronica Lottablog Not sure about her personality (intense?), but she cowrote a series of books about zoology and history aimed at kids. She started doing this about ten years before her disappearance, and the books did so well that they stayed in print for another ten years after her disappearance. Most of the cast are at least aware of them from their childhoods, except for Wambus, Cromdo, and Shelda, who are too old. Gramble would be a little too young, but his school's library was underfunded and extremely out of date. The Journalist had Bronica's book about cryptids, which they read so much it fell apart.

Triffany Lottablog The Lottablog method she mentions in her interview was her own invention, and is fusion of archaeological techniques and the adventuring techniques her (non-archaeologist) grandmother used. It's actually quite effective, and part the reason she's a "leader in [her] field". It's a bit of a high risk high reward thing, but it hasn't got her killed yet.

Lizbert Megafig She really likes standing dramatically on high places, like one of the pictures in her hut. If she's standing around somewhere, especially outdoors, she'll climb to the highest place she can get to, without really thinking about it. I'd say she likes to be tall, but she already is pretty tall. The Snaxsquatch's tendency to stand dramatically on high places might be related to this.

Wambus Troubleham It is very difficult to grow sauce plants, on or off Snaktooth Island. They basically are normal plants, but they normally don't grow very well. The island helps them along because they make it easier to lure in hosts. Wambus was just so stubborn and good at plants that he figured out how to get them to grow without the island's interference. It was still a struggle to get them to sprout, especially since the soil on the island is not very good. His success at growing sauce didn't influence his decision to try to grow Bugsnax like plants, though. He started both projects at the same time, and the sauce is the one that worked out.

Wiggle Wigglebottom Wiggle is not her given name, but it is the name she's gone by since childhood, as well as the one she uses professionally. It's a nickname based on her surname, and the way she's always moving around. It actually does sound slightly silly, even to Grumpuses who think Filbo Fiddlepie is a super normal thing to be called, but everyone's used to it at this point.

Beffica Winklesnoot She didn't join Lizbert's expedition until the night before they left, during the getting-to-know-you party that Filbo definitely threw. She ran in halfway through and asked if this was the expedition to the deserted island a long way from here. She'd just been kicked out by her roommate, and was also worried about legal action, but she didn't bring that part up. Lizbert felt bad for her, though Eggabell was more suspicious at first.

Shelda When she asked the Journalist to bring her a Bugsnak for her first sidequest, she really wasn't intending to eat it at the time. She wasn't going to have the light of Mother Naturae purge it either, because that's not really a thing. She just wanted to look at one up close, while also preparing to convince the Journalist to stop bringing people Bugsnax. But she hadn't had proper food in a long time, and she convinced herself that just one wouldn't hurt. And nobody would notice anyway. Even though they absolutely would.

[xsamsharons]

only one bed - nikolai lantsov.

pairing: nikolai lantsov x reader

genre/warning: just fluff!

words: 1.4k

summary: the age old "there’s only one bed and we sleep as far away as possible from each other but wake up cuddling" trope.

Today had been a rare calm day out on a deserted beach you’d found somewhere along the coast of Ravka, the sun had shined all day without cloud in sight, and the lack of wind combined with the hot weather had made it impossible to stay out of the water for long. Even though the day had been one of the most relaxed one the crew had had the fortune of enjoying in a while, a whole day in the ocean would take its toll on anyone, hence why you were now basically dragging your feet back to the Volkvolny to turn in for the night. You had your shoes in your hands, feeling the now cold sand make contact with your bare feet, your hair salty and your eyes red from the water. Tolya and Tamar were walking in front of you, both absolutely exhausted, causing them to stumble and trip over everything. Genya and David were walking behind you, both whispering to each other and giggling under their breath, and Nikolai was walking right beside you. You were both walking while sharing a peaceful moment of comfortable silence after a day full of annoying each other, though it seemed keeping quiet was a hard thing for Nikolai to do, since he tried to spark a conversation every five steps you took.

You had left everything on the ship in order before you left this morning, already imagining how tiring it would be to tidy everything up when you could barely keep your eyes open. However, it seemed like the universe had other plans, because as soon as you all arrived in one piece to the stowaway boat you had docked on the shore and after various failed attempts to climb up and onto the ship, Tolya collapsed on the couch. You tried nudging him and waking him up, but it was a lost cost given the fact that he had instantly passed out, and none of you were strong enough to move his dead weight.

“Don’t look so sad, darling.” Nikolai said when he saw you standing on your door looking like a kicked puppy. “Now you have an excuse to come into my room and sleep next to me.” he winked, which caused you to roll your eyes. He wasn’t wrong: while you would obviously take the couch, his room was probably the best one out of everyone’s, and you really didn’t have enough energy to argue with him right now. Instead, you just settled for a glare that you hoped conveyed everything you would say to him in that moment if you weren’t so exhausted. Judging by the way his smirk only grew in response to your look, you think it probably did.

“Thanks.” You huffed as he opened the door to his office slash room.

As soon as you stepped into his room and heard him shut the door behind you, you wanted to start crying out of frustration. Or exhaustion - probably both, you weren’t sure. Bottom line is that you wanted to start crying. Nikolai’s couch was a mess. There were pages filled with what looked like ship designs everywhere, the bed sheet on top of it looked like it hadn’t been washed in a month, there was a leftover plate of food on the floor and, was that a sword sticking out of the cushions? Nikolai chuckled from his side of the room.

“Guess you don’t want to be sleeping in there.” He said, sending you a smirk over his shirtless shoulder as he changed into his sleeping clothes.

“It beats the floor.” You shrugged, and it was true. The floor hadn’t been cleaned in ages and you were scared you were gonna fall through it and end up in the middle of the ocean. An irrational thought, of course, but one that your mind considered very possible anyway.

“I mean, we can always share the bed.” Nikolai proposed, and you shook your head, you thought you were already being too much of a bother, and you didn’t think your body could handle a whole night of sleeping next to him. “Oh, come on. It’s not that big of a deal, darling.” he smirked, walking closer to you until he was crouching down to look into your eyes that were trying to focus on anything but his hazel ones..

“Fine.” You sighed in response, and you don’t know how, but his smirk got even bigger than it had been seconds before. After telling him you’d slap his stupid smirk off his face if he didn’t stop, (which got a laugh out of him) you got changed and climbed into bed.

You both made a point of sleeping as far away from each other as possible, even though Nikolai had suggested that he could - in his own words - ‘keep you warmer than the covers ever could’, to the point where you were almost falling off the bed. You didn’t care though, you were exhausted and just wanted to sleep, so that’s exactly what you did.

When you woke up the next morning, the first thing you noticed was how heavy your chest felt. You got worried for a moment, your brain starting to think that somehow you had fallen through the floor and you were drowning, before you glanced down and saw Nikolai’s head resting right under your chin and on top of your chest, both of his arms safely wrapped around your body as his soft breaths made contact with your skin, causing goosebumps to erupt in your body and your heartbeat to speed up. You ignored the butterflies having him lay against you caused you, and instead admired the sight in front of you.

You stared at his face and admired every single feature in it; his long eyelashes resting on his cheeks, his soft lips slightly parted but looking as beautiful as ever, and his sharp nose upon which you were delicately tracing your index finger up and down. His nose subconsciously scrunched up at the contact and you let out a soft laugh at how cute he looked, moving your right hand from his nose and placing it on his hair instead, you started to twirl his curls in your fingers. You kept your other hand on his face and caressed his cheek, feeling your heart melting at the sight of the beautiful prince.

Soon enough, however, you noticed how your body started to go numb from being under him and having his body pressed up against you for such a long time. As much as you hated to disrupt the peaceful state he was in and your own private selfish view of his face, you shook him awake. He let out a groan and nuzzled closer to you, if that was even possible, and you felt your heart do flips inside you.

“Sorry for the bother, your highness, but my whole body is going numb. You aren’t exactly a feather.” You teased in a sarcastic tone, using his title to further taunt him.

In one swift motion, Nikolai turned you both around, still keeping his arms wrapped around you but this time you were the one whose head was placed on his chest. Your heart was already beating at an inhuman pace when he started to trace patterns across your arm with his thumb and you felt your body tense up once you started thinking about how he was conscious now and definitely aware of what he was doing. Nikolai must have felt this because he spoke with a sigh afterwards.

“I always imagined our first morning waking up together would involve less clothing, but this is still pretty good.” He said and you slapped his chest, feeling your cheeks burning up. “Just relax, darling. I can't sleep when your thoughts are so loud.” He concluded, moving to place a kiss on the crown of your head before laying back down.

You smiled softly and nuzzled closer to him, inhaling his scent resting your head above his shirt. You returned his kiss by placing one of your own against his chest where his shirt opened and left an open spot, relaxing against him once again once you felt his quiet laugh come from above you in the form of a huff of air.

Feeling his thumb still drawing patterns in your arms, you decided a few more hours of sleep wouldn’t hurt, and he would still be there when you woke up.

[genshinwritings]

Pregnancy Headcanons || Zhongli & Diluc

Thank you guys a lot for loving the other pregnancy headcanons ♥ I hope this satisfies your needs, haha~ 

____________________________________________________________

Zhongli

 Zhongli knew that there was something wrong with you. You were avoiding him almost strategically. Whenever you had to meet up with him you made sure that another person was around so you would not have to talk to him about private things. He often pretended that everything was fine in front of other people but deep inside he was longing to know what was wrong with you. Usually you would come around in the morning or in the evening to visit him but within the blink of an eye everything had changed. He didn’t see you daily anymore, whenever he came you left right away. He didn’t know what he had done or said to you that made you react like that but he surely knew that his heart shattered whenever a day passed where he did not talk to you.

 He had thought about the circumstances of your relationship and the possibility of anyone threatening you to stay away, yet he could not think about anyone who would profit from keeping you away from him. He felt devastated and he did not know what to do, he had handled a lot of situations with women before but never in his life had his partner avoided him without having an obvious reason to do so.

 It was late at night when you returned home, a small shock running down your spine as you felt another presence in your flat. You knew that it was him right away. You sighed defeated as you stepped into the living room, Zhongli neatly seated in the arm chair while sipping on a cup of earl grey. “Guess you’ve been expecting me..” You mumbled as you kicked off your shoes, an uneasy feeling tumbling in your stomach.  Zhongli’s eyes focused on yours as you nervously fumbled with your fingers, knowing that he was going to confront you now about the way you behaved the last couple days.

 “Would you mind sharing your knowledge with me as of why you are avoiding me?” He spoke low and calmly before blowing cold air to his tea, taking a sip while his eyes never left yours. You had been trying to avoid this conversation with him rather than you had tried to avoid him in general, yet you knew that you had to talk to him about what was going on. “I’m sorry when I hurt you with ignoring you.” You started to whisper, your gaze falling to the ground. “I did a mistake, a pretty big one and I did not want to bother you with it. I’m stupid and you’re going to hate me for it.”

Zhongli raised an eyebrow at your words, placing the cup of tea down on the wooden table in front of him before standing up. He had to admit that he was severely confused upon hearing your words, not being able to think about anything you could have done wrong.  Nevertheless, a mistake that would make him hate you. The thought of you being unfaithful crossed his mind, yet he knew that you would never do that, he trusted you too much. “Hey..” He whispered softly, firm hands placing on your shoulders as he leaned down to press a loving kiss to your forehead. “I can’t think of any reason that would possibly make me hate you and I’m sure whatever you have done is neither worse than the things I did in the past..” His voice was calm and soothing your nerves, a small relieved sigh slipping past your lips as your arms wrapped loosely around his middle, leaning your forehead against his chest.

“I’m pregnant..” You whispered into the fabric of his coat, your arms around him tightening as the fear of him pushing you away spread in your stomach. You could feel your heart clench as seconds of utter silence passed, almost feeling like an eternity. You had been more than afraid to see his reaction when you told him, after all he had been with several other partners before who did not let a mistake like that happen.

Zhongli was shocked by your words to say the least, never in his life had he expected this to be the reason why you had avoided him for days. He had prepared himself for the worst already but this was far from what he had expected.

 “First off..” He spoke calmly while his arms wrapped around your body to pull you close, one of his hands finding its way to the back of your head to reassuringly caress you hair. “The amount of love I carry in my heart for you makes it impossible for me to hate you. Whereas secondly, there’s always two people involved when it comes to this..” He leaned down to press a small kiss to the side of your head, his strong hand running over your back. He felt your body shivering and trembling in his arms, pulling slightly away from the hug before lifting up your chin between his thumb and index finger to look at you. He saw the sorrows in your eyes along with the fear of rejection, his heart craving for you to understand that he was not mad at all. “I love you, I really do. How could I ever thank you for a surprise as magnificent as this one?”

He smiled softly as he leaned in to catch your lips in a gentle but firm kiss. Even though he had never thought about becoming a father himself, the idea of it sounded more than tempting, especially with you as the mother. He could feel the warmth in his heart again as you relaxed into his touch, a small chuckle leaving your lips as you parted. “I know you’re far from being overly excited but- I love you too and I hope you know that I’m more than happy.” You hummed sweetly, pressing another kiss to his lips.

 Zhongli is going to spend all the free time he has to be by your side, always making sure that you’ve got everything you needed. Whenever he can’t come around or has to stay away from you for a while, he will tell the old people in the village to come and look after you. He does not trust a lot of people when it comes to knowing about your pregnancy, he does not want you or your unborn child to be exposed to unknown danger, trying to keep the possibility of anything happening to you as small as possible.

With time he will slowly get used to the thought of becoming a father, often talking to you about the things he’s going to do when your baby was finally born. He bought a lot of children’s books, telling you that he’s planning to read them a bedtime story every night so they might become as interested in books as he is. He will tell you how he’s going to teach them about the culture in Liyue and how he can’t wait to take them out, to show them the most beautiful places. Whenever he is talking about the future and about your baby, you can see a sparkle of happiness in his eyes and you can hear how proud he is from the way he speaks.

Diluc

 Everyone knew that Diluc was not the most sincere person when it came to talking, especially not when they were involved with the Knights of Favonius. With you it had always been a different thing, you had gotten to know him when you first arrived in Mondstadt, even before you had made up the thought of joining the Knights. It was a quiet evening when you sat at the bar of Mondstadt’s tavern, Diluc casually working while he was, of course, not the best partner for a conversation. He had told you about some of the people in the city and recommended who you could talk to and who you should avoid if possible. You noticed his disliking for the Knights of Favonius right away, yet you did not dare to ask him about it back then. You visited him frequently at the tavern, pretending to be there for personal reasons rather than only to talk to him. Even after you had joined the Knights, Diluc still treated you the same as before. He told you that he did not like your decision but he somehow found a liking to talk to you which was the reason why he would ignore that small fact about you. After meeting up in the tavern for weeks, he had invited you to go on a date with him or asked you whether you wanted to at least meet him somewhere more private.

 You had spent a lot of time with Diluc over the next few months, always making sure that you would stop by at the winery when you were around or him visiting you in town when you returned from a mission. You never needed words to describe your relationship, the both of you just knew that you belonged together. Whenever you were around Diluc was happy, outgoing and almost a man with a soft side. He made sure to never show this side of himself to anyone but you though, always making you laugh when he switched from being soft to being a meanie.

Diluc noticed it quickly when your behavior around him changed. You weren’t as outgoing anymore, often canceling your missions shortly before departing or asking someone else to go for you. It got to the point where even Kaeya asked him what had happened to you that you were often trying to avoid your responsibilities as a Knight. It was slowly getting to Diluc’s nerves, you suddenly changing this much and more than that, you not being around as much as you were before.

He had told his brother that he wanted to talk to you at the winery, for once finding it okay to ask Kaeya for a favor, something he would never usually do. You were surprised as the Cavalry Captain told you about his brothers message for you, a small shock running down your spine. You had tried to avoid to talk to Diluc for a while, yet you knew that he was far from being stupid and that he would see through your act right away.

Diluc was relieved to see you when you arrived at the winery in the evening, a soft smile planted on his lips as he welcomed you at the door before taking you up to his private apartment. You could feel your heart jump with joy upon seeing Diluc’s smile, the last few days had been unbearable as you had tried to stay away from him. Being able to look at him again, to feel his rough hand in yours as he led you through the building, it all made you feel utterly happy.

“I was almost afraid that I did something wrong that you weren’t visiting me anymore.” He spoke lowly before chuckling softly, squeezing your hand in his. “Would you like to drink anything?” He asked you as he let go of your hand, a small smile on your lips as you followed him through the apartment to the kitchen, your arms crossing in front of your chest. “I’ll be fine with grape juice.” You spoke as you leaned in the doorframe, Diluc stopping in his steps upon hearing your words. He looked at you confused and raised an eyebrow, tilting his head lightly to the side. “You sure you want no wine? It’s unsual for you to be satisfied with only juice..” He laughed shortly. Whenever you two met, wine was your usual go to drink but right now you didn’t think of it as properly and appropriate for your situation.

“Well, it’s not allowed to drink any alcohol when you’re pregnant, so I guess.. I have to go with grape juice.” You shrugged your shoulders playfully before taking the glass from his hand, his eyes growing big. He stood there dumbfounded, not knowing whether you were joking or not, stupidly both suited the situation. “Are you joking right now?” He almost whispered, his eyes focusing on yours as a bright smirk formed on your lips. Diluc could feel himself growing mad on the inside because you were playing with him but at the same time he felt a deep hope in his heart that you would tell him that you were not joking.

“I’m not joking, you’re going to be a father..” You mumbled, the smile never vanishing from your lips. You knew everything about Diluc’s complicated past but you also knew that he was going to be an excellent father no matter what. Adding to that he had often fantasized about becoming a father since your relationship had become more serious. He could feel his heart skip a beat as he listened to your words, placing down his glass before cupping your face in his hands, leaning in to quickly press a kiss to your lips. “I love you.” He whispered softly in between multiple small kisses, one of his arms wrapping around your hips to hold you close. “Thank you so much, my love. For everything. For coming into my life and changing everything to the better.”

 Diluc is going to be as caring as he always is when it comes to you. Always making sure that he was around when you woke up and when you fell asleep. During the day he was often occupied with his own work but whenever you felt bad or asked him to stay with you, he did as you wished. He was more than happy about your pregnancy, the proud feeling of soon becoming a father storming through his veins. Whenever someone asked him about your pregnancy there was always warm smile on his lips as he stayed silent about the circumstances. He had no problem with letting anyone know about it as long as it did not put you into danger somehow. 

[cinnaminsvga]

a love that endures | Yoongi

→ summary: 

“Oh come on! Just go say hi to him already,” Seokjin huffs. He wiggles his eyebrows, striking you with the urge to shave them off in retaliation. “I could feel your ‘God, I miss his dick’ vibes from across the room!”

“I do not emit dick thirst vibes,” you respond hotly, swatting him in the tit. You pause, considering. “Wait, but do you think he misses my p—”

“Say no more,” Seokjin interrupts, a wicked smirk gracing his lips. His gaze is fixed somewhere behind you, but you have a sinking suspicion you know why he looks like he’s won the lottery. “Speaking of the devil, look who’s coming over to say hello!”

{or alternatively: Yoongi and Y/N. Y/N and Yoongi. High school sweethearts that were never meant to last, until a reunion ten years later manages to reignite a flame that never quite burnt out.} 

→ genre: high school reunion!au, exes to lovers, fluff, humor, minor angst → warnings: shy!yoongi and shy!oc live rent free in my brain, mutual pining is poggers, hoseok and seokjin aren’t evil for once in a cinnaminsvga fic, implied smut so it’s pg-13 because i’m a wimp → words: 14.4K → a/n: SHE’S ALIVE!! this is dedicated to @himbeaux-joon​ who commissioned this piece ages ago. thank you again for requesting this because this was honestly so much fun to write. i’ve been in a bit of writing slump these past few weeks but this fic came out so easily and got way longer than expected (perhaps because it’s about yoongi and he’s always been the easiest one to write for me). enjoy!! ;o;

The mere sight of him is enough to knock the wind out of you.

Your body freezes, the hand curled around your paper cup filled with punch tightening ever so slightly. It isn’t like you’re surprised that he came; you aren’t supposed to be. Of course, you should have expected his arrival, but you’ve been hoping all night that he might have been too busy to attend.

He isn’t even on time—it has almost been two hours since the event started and you had been filled with a false hope that perhaps he had RSVP’d and decided he couldn’t make it. 

You had seen Hoseok, his best friend from your younger days, standing outside the entrance of the ballroom before they had started letting people in. The moment Hoseok saw you, he immediately came over to sweep you into a tight hug, his infectious laughter ringing in your ears. He had greeted you happily, expressing how much he missed you since high school, but never once bringing up the elephant in the room.

It wasn’t like you were going to bring him up first. No, that would be weird on your part. Nevermind the fact that going to high school reunions was a recipe for reliving past traumas and seeing all your childhood friends either married or pregnant—you weren’t going to be that person who asked where their ex was. You refused to be the person craning their neck to spy on the entrance every two minutes, hoping to catch sight of an old familiar face.

The problem is that you are that person, and you kind of hate yourself for it. However, it is also the reason why you are probably the only person in the entire ballroom who notices his quiet arrival.

He has never liked causing commotions, which is often apparent from the way he conducts himself. He walks into the room just as a loud round of applause breaks out; an old schoolmate of yours is walking up to the podium, probably the person who had arranged the get-together in the first place. It is a perfect distraction for him as he slinks past the door, keeping near the wall so as not to be seen by anyone just yet.

(Except he has been seen—he just doesn’t know it yet.)

You do not know for how long you stare at him, just that it takes you a moment to realize you haven’t taken a breath since he stepped foot into the same space as you. You take a deep, shuddering breath, forcing your racing heartbeat to calm down. You swallow thickly, throat so unbearably dry that even drinking from your lukewarm cup of punch doesn’t seem to do anything.

But the undeniable truth is there, standing only a few meters away from you, and nothing on earth will be able to wash away the nerves flooding through your system.

After ten years of radio silence, Min Yoongi is in your orbit once again.

In the grand scheme of things, ten years wasn’t all that long. Four years in university had passed by in a blur, and the absolute chaos that ensued right after you graduated as you scrambled to secure a job and move out of your hometown had made the days seem shorter than they actually were. You had not even noticed that time was passing until you found that cream envelope waiting for you one day after work, your alma mater’s school crest painfully recognizable even after all these years.

During all that time, the world around you shifted without you noticing, and that meant people were changing too.

Yoongi is 28 now. And so are you, after many months of denial. You have not seen each other since you were both 18—both of you far too young to know about any of the things you would experience in the next ten years.

He might have grown a little taller since then, something you are sure that your brother will find amusing. His hair isn’t dyed like you remembered, as he has opted to keep it his natural dark black that you have not seen since you were both in middle school. It’s styled differently too: combed over and gelled back, with his bangs pushed back and his forehead exposed. When he turns his head to the side, a gasp spills past your lips before you can stop it.

“Is that a fucking undercut?” you mutter in shock, your eyes straining out of their sockets as you try to drink him in. Even under the dim lighting of the ballroom, his new haircut is hard to miss. No one else seems to be undergoing the same mental collapse as you, judging by how everyone’s attention is still fixated on the person speaking at the podium. How the hell is no one else losing their fucking minds to the sight of Min Yoongi with a fucking undercut? Some questions are impossible to answer, you surmise.

When you decided to attend the reunion, you had not once thought about how Yoongi would look like. Somehow, you had developed this stagnant picture of him in your head, even after all these years. To you, he will always be the boy with the stark blonde hair, the mismatched eyelids, the pouty lips, the dumpling cheeks. He is the boy who can’t wear his own contact lenses to save his life, the boy who sometimes wears his favorite leather jacket to sleep, the boy who only drinks Americanos like it was water.

Gone are those days, you realize. That image of him has been smashed to pieces, instead replaced by this dashing (and incredibly hot) man—a stranger. A stranger with unbleached (and healthy) hair, a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. He has his glasses kept away, and there is no leather jacket in sight.

But you can see him, if you look hard enough. The same spark in his eye, the same curve of his lips. You catch him smiling for a second, and his cheeks still puff up like dough. Maybe it’s just hopeless thinking, but you see him. It’s still him. To you, he will always be your 18-year-old Min Yoongi, the one who would greet you with a sweet kiss on the forehead every time you would—

Raucous applause breaks you from your train of thought, and you blink rapidly in surprise. You have to forcibly pull yourself out of your Yoongi-induced trance, clapping alongside everyone without really knowing what was going on. All of the extra noise sounds like buzzing in your ears, especially when it is drowned out by the roar of your blood rushing to your head all at once.

“Once again, I’d like to thank you all for coming tonight. We will begin the program right after dinner, so please feel free to help yourselves to the buffet! Cheers everyone!” You faintly hear your old schoolmate speak, before her voice is quickly overrun by the commotion of people walking over to the extravagant display of food. It takes a moment for the crowd of heads to disperse, so when you can finally look back to where you last saw Yoongi, he is no longer alone.

Hoseok has his arm slung around Yoongi, his infectious laughter loud enough to be heard over clinking plates and silverware. The two are as different as night and day, with Hoseok practically bouncing from excitement and Yoongi rolling his eyes from annoyance. But it is easy to see that his pout is nothing but a ruse; you can already catch the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips.

You feel your own seams breaking, unwittingly sporting a grin of your own. It is nice to know that Yoongi hasn’t been alone all this time, that he still seems close with his old best friend. You cannot count the number of friendships that you have lost over time, and you still grieve many of them during your quiet moments. Alas, it was often never even anyone’s fault, the strains of adulthood often being the biggest deal breakers in your relationships.

That is, of course, except for one.

“Enjoying yourself? I didn’t think we’d share the same voyeuristic tendencies,” says a voice, creeping up behind you. Now, normal people would not usually expect other sane people to invade your personal space and breathe directly into your ear, but that’s just your humble opinion. What you do know is that one certain individual enjoys breaking the mold when it comes to societal norms, and it is none other than…

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You shriek, nearly sucker-punching the offending degenerate in the face. You hold back your fist from connecting with his face, but your resulting irritation remains. Whether that irritation is because you regret holding back or not will unfortunately also have to remain unanswered. “Oh God, it’s you.”

“Oh, no need for that. Most people usually call me Seokjin,” he snickers, thoroughly enjoying your flushed face. Kim Seokjin pats you on the shoulder, his trademark “pretty boy” smile still as radiant as you remembered. It does nothing to quell your urge to raise your fists again, however. “Hello, Y/N. Fancy seeing you here!”

“The feeling is not mutual,” you snort. Much like how Yoongi was with Hoseok, your derision is nothing but a rouse. As much as you want to kick Seokjin in the nuts, you also cannot ignore how much you want to hug him the slimy bastard—but you definitely will not be the first one to admit it. So like the tsundere that you are, you decide to insult him instead. “Why are you here? You’re not even from this class. Don’t you have other things to do? Or rather, people to do?”

“My heart! You wound me,” he gasps, grasping his chest as though he’d been shot. “How could you say that to your best friend in the entire world? Don’t you know how much I missed you?”

“Easy. I do it because the only other alternative would lead me straight to prison,” you shrug, but your grin betrays you.

This time, you don’t jolt away when he closes in for a hug. “And I guess I miss you too,” you say, your words slightly muffled into his chest. Like always, he sees through your prickly act because as much as you like to pretend, Kim Seokjin is kind of amazing—loose bolts and all.

“It’s nice to know that your tongue hasn’t lost its edge, though I suppose I wouldn’t be intimately knowledgeable in that area. After all, I still am very much a raging homosexual and pussy isn’t really my forte,” Seokjin guffaws, his volume causing a few nearby guests to raise their heads in alarm.

You bow at them, sheepishly apologizing on his behalf before grabbing him by the collar.

“Will you stop being embarrassing for just one second? I swear, I thought I retired from my babysitting job when I graduated high school,” you hiss, but the way his mouth curls up with mischief is answer enough. God, you missed this son of a bitch.

“Unfortunately for you, being a pest is part of my DNA,” he smirks, carefully plucking your hands off from his neck, as though your nails were not mere inches away from ripping his trachea into pieces. “Though, I am offended by your assumption that I am still the same slut that you knew. I’ve grown up a little, you know! I’m a changed man!”

“Oh, please. Don’t tell me you of all people have settled down,” you laugh, not missing the way Seokjin’s perfectly stenciled brow raises slightly.

“I know we haven’t seen each other since Christmas, but come on Y/N! You of all people should be applauding me for my improved behavior! You must have noticed how much I changed when I visited.”

“When you visited me last Christmas, you immediately insulted my taste in kitchen towels, went on Grindr to find a hookup despite my numerous pleas, and promptly desecrated my guest bedroom that no housekeeper or priest is willing to exorcise to this day,” you gag, shuddering at the memory. “And then you ate all my ice cream and proceeded to clog my toilet!”

“Um? Aren’t you forgetting that I also bought you that dress you wanted? Rude,” Seokjin retorts, not the least bit remorseful. “Well, that’s what you get for agreeing to be my best bitch for life. You know that I take pinky promises very seriously.”

Unfortunately, he does take his promises seriously. It is probably the only thing he’ll ever be serious about, as much as the man enjoys parading his depravity. “Okay, whatever. I’ll bite. Who’s the unlucky man you’ve managed to deceive into a relationship?”

“Oh, it’s someone we both used to know. I’m his plus one for tonight,” he says, supplying you with the most useless non-answer imaginable.

“Seokjin. We’re at a high school reunion. We know everyone here. That could be anyone!” you exclaim.

“Well, isn’t that fun? Then we can do a scavenger hunt!” Seokjin grins, clapping his hands together excitedly. He pulls you in front of him, forcing the two of you to survey the crowd. “Okay, hold your arm out like this—” After a few seconds of you failing to resist him, he manages to get you to unfurl your finger as if you were about to order something from the dollar menu at McDonalds. Unfortunately for you, the tall twink is stronger than he appears. “—and just keep pointing around until I tell you that you’re getting warmer!”

“Seokjin, I don’t think this is very—” you start, but Seokjin is already moving your arm for you. Like a hurricane, Kim Seokjin listens to no one but his own homewrecking whims.

“Park Chanyeol? Close, but not really. You should know that I don’t double dip with past flings,” he says, shifting you to the left. “Kim Namjoon? Now that’s a hunk of meat that I wish I’d taken a bite of, but unfortunately he’s as straight as a ruler. Pass,” he hums, continuing to move you bit by bit.

You’re both getting uncomfortably close to where Yoongi is, and Seokjin doesn’t appear to be stopping any time soon. You did notice that Yoongi had come dateless to the reunion (a fact, by the way, that you did not rejoice over when you had noticed), but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s single. You have known Seokjin for more than a decade at this point, and despite your odd friendship, you are sure that he would never do anything to hurt you on purpose.

Though, that does beg the question… How far does his dick thirst really go? Maybe you’ll finally find out today.

“Warmer, getting warmer…” Seokjin inches you closer and closer to where Yoongi is standing. You feel frozen in his grasp, unsure if you wanted to know anymore. If Seokjin really is dating Yoongi, then what? It’s not like you were dating him anyway… What difference does it make if it’s Seokjin?

(It makes all the difference, but you refuse to think about it.)

“Nope, not Wonho... A little bit to the left… Bingo!” Seokjin declares, stopping your finger right on— “No, Y/N! Stop moving! You’ve gone too far to the wall! I was pointing at him.”

“H-Hoseok? You’re dating Hoseok?!” You squeak, an avalanche of relief flooding through you. You don’t even have the energy to pretend to be composed as your entire body starts untensing involuntarily, your shoulders slumping as though a weight has been lifted from you. “Why couldn’t you have just told me like a normal person? Why must everything be tortuous and dramatic when it comes to you?”

“I am a naturally insufferable and theatrical person. Sue me,” he shrugs, greatly enjoying the exhausted look on your face. “What? Were you actually scared that I was dating your sloppy seconds? What do you think I am? An asshole?”

You stare at him. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

Seokjin scoffs. “If I wanted to get roasted, I would approach two tops at a gay bar.” He pauses. “Wait, are you seriously not going to congratulate me for finally snagging a boy who has a functioning moral compass?”

“Define ‘snagging.’ Did you, like, tie him up and blackmail him to become your boyfriend like those terrible One Direction Wattpad fanfics, or—” You stop halfway, giggling at your friend’s unamused pout. “Okay, okay. Yes, Seokjin. I am very proud of you. Congrats on finally becoming an adult. Your hoe days are over.”

“Who said they were over?” He snorts. Noticing your alarm, Seokjin rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Oh, don’t give me that look! I’m not into infidelity and you know that. I just meant that I’m still a hoe with significantly fewer options.”

“How did that even happen in the first place?” you say, jabbing your thumb in Hoseok’s direction. Thankfully, the man in question is still busy talking to Yoongi, though you don’t know for how much longer. If Seokjin isn’t lying, then there’s a high chance they’re going to walk over to say hi and you’re not sure if you’re mentally prepared to go through the five stages of grief all over again.

“Believe me, I’m surprised as well. I started dating Hoseok after he asked me for help with his sister’s wedding gift. He asked me to help arrange an itinerary for her sister’s honeymoon in America,” Seokjin explains with a dreamy smile. He sighs, holding a hand up to his chest. You can physically see the heart emojis circling his head like a halo. “We hit it off from there and dare I say… Not only is he the only person who can keep up with my high maintenance lifestyle, but dear Lord, he could totally be recruited into the NDA for his astounding dick game—”

“Ever heard of TMI? Gross,” you interrupt, your face crumpling in disgust. You shove him away when his loud cackles start rattling your eardrums.

“You were scared though, right?” he says through his giggles. “When you thought that I was dating Yoongi?”

Of course Seokjin had noticed your mini-mental breakdown, judging from the shit-eating grin on his face.

“N-no,” you stutter, but your heated cheeks and averted gaze give you away. “E-either way, I wouldn’t have cared if you did!” you say. You know, like a liar.

“I bet you don’t care that Yoongi got significantly hotter in the past ten years too, huh?” Seokjin teases, snickering loudly. Under the harsh lighting of the fluorescent chandelier lights, you might have mistaken the boy in front of you for the devil instead of your best friend of almost twenty years.

“I sincerely rue the day I introduced myself to you in the third grade,” you hiss, sipping from your cup to hide your humiliation.

“Aww, you’re so cute when you’re all embarrassed,” Seokjin coos, pinching your cheeks with the gentleness of an ape. You slap his hand away, unable to think of any retort.

“Cat got your tongue? You didn’t even deny it when I accused you,” Seokjin laughs. He claps his hands jovially, acting as though he’s enjoying a show at the circus. Given your performance tonight, that statement isn’t all that far from reality.

“I don’t need to defend myself from you,” you say, puffing your cheeks indignantly. “I just… think he looks handsome. Is that illegal or something?”

“Certainly not. Though, you might want to dial down the pining a teensy bit,” he singsongs. “That’s how I found you in the first place. I sensed your pining from a mile away and came as soon as I could!”

“I wasn’t pining!” you exclaim. “I was just… admiring the plant beside him.”

“Right, sure,” Seokjin says, arching an eyebrow in challenge. You feel your hackles rising at his smug expression, your ‘Seokjin-is-about-to-ruin-your-life’ alarm ringing in your ears. “So, you wouldn’t mind if I brought you over there to say hello? After all, my boyfriend is over there and as much as I enjoy pestering you, I also want to be with him very much.”

You whistle lowly, impressed. “Wow, that’s actually kind of sweet of you.”

“Yes, I know. Kim Seokjin’s heart grew three sizes that day, yada yada yada.” Seokjin says sarcastically, but his lovesick smile ruins the effect. When he opens his mouth once more, the mirage instantly disappears. “But you would understand if you saw how much he’s packing—”

“Shut up, I didn’t ask—”

“Fine, then let’s ask the man himself! Besides, you know you’re being ridiculous, right?” Seokjin tuts, annoyed. He fixes you with a glare, making you feel like a scolded child. “It’s just Yoongi. You and I both know he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body and probably would love to see you after so long.”

You wave your hands around helplessly, almost sloshing your drink onto a nearby bystander. After muttering a meek apology at your harried classmate, you turn back to Seokjin with a defeated sigh.

You know that he’s right, and you absolutely hate him for it. “Jinnie, I’m a mess! I can hardly think with Yoongi standing meters away from me, much less if he were to stand right in front of me! I’m just going to embarrass myself,” you lament, holding your head in your hand.

“That’s true. You will definitely embarrass yourself,” Seokjin hums, nodding sagely. He shrugs his shoulders. “All the more reason we should do it. Relax, I’ll be your wingman like old times! All we have to do is remind him of all the fantastic, mind-blowing coitus you had in your youth and he’ll be a goner for sure.”

“If by goner, you mean he’ll be gone from my life permanently this time, then you’re right,” you groan. You have a half a mind to dump the remainder of your disgusting punch all over his expensive Bottega Veneta coat, though you also don’t want to spend the next three months receiving packaged turds from Seokjin in your mailbox. “Please, just let me suffer in silence for the remainder of the night, okay? Is that really too much to ask?”

“Oh come on! Just go say hi to him already,” Seokjin huffs. He wiggles his eyebrows, striking you with the urge to shave them off in retaliation. “I could feel your ‘God, I miss his dick’ vibes from across the room!”

“I do not emit dick thirst vibes,” you respond hotly, swatting him in the tit. You pause, considering. “Wait, but do you think he misses my p—”

“Say no more,” Seokjin interrupts, a wicked smirk gracing his lips. His gaze is fixed somewhere behind you, but you have a sinking suspicion you know why he looks like he’s won the lottery. “Speaking of the devil, look of who’s coming over to say hello!”

Swiveling around, you see that your intuition is right: Yoongi and Hoseok are swiftly making their way through the crowd, one of them appearing to be more enthusiastic than the other. You swallow thickly, your palms growing damp as they get closer to where the two of you stand.

"Seokjin, we gotta go!" you hiss, but your panic goes largely ignored as your best friend leaves you to envelop his lover in a dramatic embrace.

The two men exchange teary and heartfelt touches, acting as if they had been separated by years of war instead of the meager minutes they had spent apart to greet their long-time friends.

"My honeybunch! Oh, how I've missed you so much!" Seokjin cries, nuzzling his nose into Hoseok's neck. You might have mistaken him for a vampire with how aggressively he sniffs Hoseok's skin. Had Seokjin been 5% more unhinged, you do not doubt that he might have started suckling on his boyfriend like a leech.

"Oh, hyung. It's barely been an hour, but why does it feel like it has been forever?" Hoseok sighs forlornly, jaw clenching as though he's in pain. He croaks out a sob, lifting Seokjin in the air and spinning him around. "My love, let us never part again!"

You take a few steps away from them, trying to make it apparent to all the bewildered onlookers that you have nothing to do with homosexual Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

"What kind of shitty production is this? I want my money back," you murmur, fake-gagging behind the two of them. The lovesick fools pay no mind to your disgust; in fact, they seem to relish in it. Their efforts double, their theatrical kissy-smoochy sound effects causing goosebumps to form on your arms. "Seriously, I've had enough of this and I've only been forced to witness it for two seconds."

"Tell me about it," says a voice to your left. Startled, you nearly let out a shocked gasp when you realize that Yoongi had found his way by your side, his own disgusted gaze fixed on the bumbling buffoons still lost in their world. He glances at you for a second, quirking his lips into a small smile. "Hey, Y/N."

In just six words, Min Yoongi manages to make time grind to a halt. You gape at him, your brain ceasing in function. It takes you a full minute to realize that the man standing beside you is not a figment of your imagination. You had been so caught up in the absurdity of the situation that for a moment you had forgotten that Yoongi is a real person.

It's Yoongi, your first love. The person you haven't seen or spoken to in years. The man who has haunted your dreams for over a decade. He's standing right beside you, and he's smiling at you. He's here, he's hot, and he's saying hello.

Like the incredibly eloquent and profound person that you are, you reply: "Yellow!"

You had meant to say "Yoongi, hello!" like a normal person, but your brain had amalgamated your words during its rebooting process. And so, you are left standing there silently, frozen by your embarrassment. You swear you can hear a pin drop as you beg for the earth to swallow you whole.

Unfortunately for you, the floor remains painfully tangible beneath your feet, forcing you to clear your throat and expound on your mystifying exclamation. Yoongi watches you with curious eyes, patiently waiting for you to speak.

"W-what I meant to say is, uh," you stammer, your cheeks heating up to an alarming degree. "Those yellow streamers are pretty tacky, don't you think?"

Nice one. In terms of comebacks, you would personally give yourself a C for effort. (Note: C stands for "Can I please shove a fist up my ass and crabwalk the fuck out of here?")

Yoongi contemplates the tacky decorations in question, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I guess. They pretty much look like the stuff we'd make in elementary school during Arts and Crafts." He points to your mutual friends, grimacing in annoyance. "Them, on the other hand? No child should ever come into contact with those heathens."

"You're right," you snort, shaking your head.

There is a long and awkward pause. Yoongi clears his throat, swaying from side to side while staring at his shoes. You aren't any better, twiddling your thumbs as you will your cheeks to stop flushing. Your senses are practically screaming at you to run away and hide forever, but your limbs feel disjointed from the rest of you.

It's like we're at the zoo on a date and the monkeys won't stop fucking each other, your mind unhelpfully supplies, offering you an image that will permanently make its home on the backs of your eyelids.

Desperate to break the silence, eventually you say, "Hey, Yoongi—"

Right at the same time, Yoongi says, "Hey, Y/N—"

Another pause, but this one is slightly less tense. The two of you share a nervous laugh, though yours sounds a little bit more hysterical. You motion for him to speak first.

"I, uh... wanted to say that you look great. Yeah. Like, you haven't aged a day at all. N-not to say that I don't think you've matured or..." Yoongi stumbles over his words, his voice cracking.

Instead of feeling relieved that he's just as nervous as you, his anxiety only exacerbates your own. There's a reason you have never been good at public speaking, and this is a good example of why:

"No! I get what you mean, don't worry about it," you laugh, on the verge of a mental breakdown. What the fuck is this conversation, even? "You look exactly the same too. Umm... Of course, except for the, uh, hair?"

"Oh, you mean the gray hairs?"

"No, no! Of course not! I m-meant your hair looks really hot—I mean good! It looks GOOD," you repeat, frantically emphasizing the last bit. You had instinctively panicked, your voice rising in pitch.  If your cheeks weren't flaming hot already, then they're definitely redder than Seokjin's ass after a Friday night of fun.

The apples of Yoongi's cheek match your own flustered state, though you can imagine that you’re probably at least a hundred times worse. “Well, thank you. I was actually feeling self-conscious about my hair, so hearing that from you is really… nice,” he says, brushing his hair shyly. “I’m kinda done with bright colored hair for now, so seeing my hair in its natural state is still kind of weird.”

“I seriously doubt that Y/N was talking about your hair color, Yoongi,” Hoseok interjects, magically reappearing behind you when you don’t notice. You flinch in surprise, causing him to let out a hearty chuckle at your jumpiness. It seems that today is “Let’s scare the living shit out of Y/N” day with how many people have crept up on you in just one night.

Beside him, Seokjin looks like a bomb ready to explode, his fist jammed up his mouth to keep his guffaws from slipping out. “God, this is even better than the cringe compilations I watch on Youtube,” he wheezes, wiping a stray tear.

“Don’t be so mean to them, hyung! Don’t mind him,” Hoseok says to you, bowing apologetically. He smiles cherubically at Yoongi. “See, Yoongi? I told you that Y/N is even hotter up close!”

“God, fucking kill me,” you hear Yoongi groan.

“So, have you guys caught up yet, or have you just been fumbling around each other like a couple of horny teenagers?” Seokjin snickers, narrowly avoiding your heel stomping his foot.

“We’ve only just said hello. Leave us alone, jackass,” you huff.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Well, Hoseok and I can go on our merry ways if you wish—”

“Yoongi! Did you tell Y/N about your work back in Seoul? I bet she’d love to hear about it,” Hoseok interrupts smoothly, saving you from further embarrassment (courtesy of his infuriating goblin of a boyfriend.)

You blink in surprise, turning to the man in question. “You live in Seoul now? Did you move there after finishing university?” you ask.

“Well,” Yoongi starts, clearing his throat. He’s permanently pink at this point, not that you mind in the slightest. He always did have the cutest blush (and once upon a time, you used to love teasing him about it.) “I sort of dropped out of university early. Decided it wasn’t really my thing, you know?”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Yoongi. You were a fantastic student. I’m sure Y/N remembers how smart you are,” Hoseok says, winking inconspicuously at you.

You force out a laugh in response. You know perfectly well what he was trying to do; Hoseok isn’t slick in the slightest, though you do admit that you are intrigued to find out what Yoongi had done over the years.

It isn’t like you haven’t been keeping tabs on him. In your defense, it’s hard to stay away from news about Yoongi when he’s such a big deal. So what if you’ve watched a couple of his interviews and streamed all of his songs? He’s always been talented with music, and all the radio shows seem to agree. You couldn’t get away from him if you tried (and it’s not like you were trying very hard, anyway.)

Yoongi shrugs, rubbing his neck bashfully. “E-either way, I decided to tough it out, you know? Follow my dreams and all that, even if it nearly killed me.”

“And now, he’s working in a famous idol company as one of their head producers,” Hoseok finishes for him, chest puffing up in pride. He slaps his best friend on the back, not noticing that he had inadvertently caused Yoongi's spine to cave in from his strength. “Yoongi is so cool, and humble too! He’s been working behind the scenes for a bunch of big names and never got greedy for attention even though he totally deserves it.”

“Damn, so no street cred? Bit schewpid, innit? Imagine all the chicks you could’ve landed, bruv!” Seokjin says, imitating a terrible British accent. You make a move to hit him in the groin, but for once, Hoseok beats you to the punch.

“Nope! Yoongi-chi is super single, aren’t you?” Hoseok says with a sweet grin, ignoring the pained groans of his lover on the floor.

“No need to rub it in, Seok-ah,” Yoongi grumbles defensively. He coughs into his fist, grinding his foot into the floor. He throws a glance your way. “Just been… too busy, I guess.”

From the floor, Seokjin holds up a hand, grasping at Hoseok’s pant leg to hoist himself up. “What a coincidence. Y/N is super single too. In fact, her pussy is so dry that there’d be no chance for any yeast infections to develop—WAIT, DON’T HIT ME AGAIN I PROMISE I’LL BEHAVE!” Seokjin is on his knees, holding his arms up in surrender as Hoseok’s boot is about to connect with his stomach.

“I know I said I was into BDSM, but not like this!” Seokjin says, faking a sob.

“Then behave, darling,” Hoseok replies, eyes lighting dangerously. When he returns his attention to you, you and Yoongi back away instinctively. “Sorry about him. We have an… arrangement,” he says, waving his hands vaguely.

“Understood,” you both say, not understanding but also not wanting to.

Seokjin manages to straighten up eventually, his skin slightly paler than it was before. “A-as I was saying,” he exhales, still gingerly cupping his crotch. “Y/N has been single for so long, but I don’t blame her. Not after that awful disaster of a boyfriend, right? God, Sungjae fucking sucked ass, and not even in the sexy way.”

“Um, yeah…” you say hesitantly, avoiding eye contact. You can feel Hoseok’s and Yoongi’s eyes trained on you, but you’re not confident enough to know that you can keep your face neutral.

With your gaze averted, you don’t notice the way Yoongi’s posture tenses. “Is that so,” he says carefully.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hoseok says. You can hear the genuine sadness in his tone, and you chance a peek at him. He pats your shoulder gently, giving you a soft smile. “Honestly, I feel you. I’ve definitely been there, done that. That’s why I’m grateful for Seokjin-hyung, believe it or not. He’s been really good for me.”

“Hah, I told you I’m a good person!” Seokjin says. Again, he goes ignored.

“It’s fine. It’s all water under the bridge,” you say, shrugging. You can still feel Yoongi’s persistent gaze on the side of your head like a brand. You’re kind of afraid to see what sort of expression he has despite the curiosity burning inside of you.

You are still in the middle of debating if it’s worth explaining or not (and to a lesser extent, why you feel like you need to explain yourself to anyone), everyone’s attention is caught by the onslaught of waiters bringing in a fresh batch of food to the buffet. Your stomach growls in response, and you are reminded of the fact that you haven’t eaten since breakfast in preparation for tonight’s event.

“Hold that thought, Y/N,” Hoseok says, holding up a finger. “Hyung! I saw a platter of tuna belly and I know that shit is gonna disappear in two seconds. Let’s head out!” He tugs Seokjin in a hurry, the elder’s gangly legs flying about as he trips over himself to keep up. Seokjin yelps and hollers for him to slow down, but the hangry Hoseok train stops for no one. They run off, leaving Hoseok-and-Seokjin-shaped dust clouds in their wakes.

“Wow,” Yoongi says, dumbfounded. “Did we just get ditched by our two self-proclaimed best friends in the world?”

You nod, equally dumbfounded. “I guess we did.”

He shakes his head. “Fucking traitors.”

And just like that, the conversation dies.

Without your friends acting as buffers, the pair of you return to your painfully awkward states. You rack your brain for a conversation topic, anything to keep the tension at bay. You don’t feel nearly comfortable enough to ask him about his love life, even though you want nothing more than to shake the details right out of him. For perfectly sane reasons, of course.

Lucky for you, Yoongi thinks of a solution. “Um, I guess we should go grab our food as well? I’m assuming we’ll be sitting together since our friends are... you know. Unless you don’t want to, then that’s also perfectly fine with me. I can find somewhere else to sit.”

“I’d love to sit with you,” you say, cringing at your choice of words. Love to? What are you, desperate?! your brain screeches at you, and you mentally beat yourself in the coochie.

Deep down, you know that you’re overreacting, but you can’t help acting like a blushy teenager talking to your crush when you’re around Yoongi. It’s almost as if you’ve reverted to your high school days, back when you’d both started to notice your feelings for each other and the steady flow of butterflies erupting in your stomach had felt less like a burden and more like a revelation.

After tossing your disgusting drink into a nearby bin, you and Yoongi line up behind the rest of your classmates for the buffet, the scene reminiscent of having lunch at your old high school cafeteria. You’re still mildly distracted by Yoongi’s proximity, not looking at what food you were getting and randomly scooping and hoping you don’t dislike all of them.

From the corner of your eye, you notice that Yoongi’s plate is steadily piling up, probably with enough food to feed two people. You’ve never known Yoongi to be much of a heavy eater, but you suppose that free food is still free food at the end of the day.

“So,” Yoongi says after a beat. He pulls you from your trance, and you catch the small smile on his face that tells you that he figured you had been distracted. “How is Jungkook, by the way? He graduated from university a year ago or something, right?”

You pause, your hand stilling on the metal tongs. “How did you know he graduated last year?”

He shrugs. “Well, assuming that he didn’t take any gap years, I did the math and figured he should be at the age where he’s looking for a job.” He turns to you with a sly grin. “Plus, I’m still his friend on Facebook.”

“That’s surprising,” you comment. You backtrack a little, “And I mean it’s surprising in the sense that… All his posts are reshares from dank meme pages and I thought you wouldn’t be into that.”

Yoongi laughs. “I’m not. But… it’s nice to know how things are back home, I guess.”

Do you wonder about me, too? you think, but you internally shake your head. But why would he? He doesn’t owe you anything.

“And your dad? I heard he got hip surgery last fall,” Yoongi says.

“Wait, Jungkook has been posting about our dad’s surgery on his Facebook?”

“Oh! No, not exactly.” Yoongi clears his throat, suddenly nervous. He heaps a big portion of kimchi, some of it staining his sleeve. “I… called him a few days ago, to catch up.”

You’re staring at him, and you dimly register the people lined up behind you huffing impatiently. “You… called him? You have his cell number, too?”

“No, I just… happen to still have your home telephone number memorized and hoped that you guys hadn’t moved,” he says, a little guiltily.

You’re silent for a moment, thoughtlessly scooping more bean sprouts onto your plate than any sane person would be comfortable eating. The two of you inch along the buffet display as you attempt to process his sudden confession.

On one hand, you’re slightly betrayed that your own brother hadn’t thought to mention that your ex had called him, but on the other hand, what would you have done if he did? Ask if you could say hello? The Y/N from last month probably would have laughed if she had known that Min Yoongi still cared enough to call and check on her family, much less have her landline memorized even after all these years.

He still cared.

Unbeknownst to everyone in the room, your heart skips a beat at the thought. You cradle a hand to your chest, urging your nerves to quell. Keep it together, you beg your stupid, naive heart. You can survive one night without falling in love again, can’t you?

...can you?

“I…” you stammer. You swallow thickly, desperate for something to say, anything to stop your mind from going in the wrong direction. “They miss you, you know? You have no idea how many times my parents ask if you’re coming home for Christmas, or—I don’t know.”

“Yeah, my parents are the same. They always wanna know if I’m coming home for the holidays, and they,” he hesitates, swallowing thickly, “They always ask about you, too.”

Oh.

“Oh,” you mutter lamely. Your cheeks feel like they’ve been lit on fire the moment you got here, and you haven’t even visited the bar yet.

You finally make it to the end of the long buffet table where there is a large chocolate fountain just begging for you to ravage if only your stomach wasn’t besieged by butterflies. Yoongi glances at you, his own hands too full to get any desserts, but he still pauses as if he’s waiting for you. When you make it apparent you aren’t interested in the mouthwatering cakes and pastries (a big fat lie, but you also don’t want to vomit in front of him and your hundreds of schoolmates), he raises a brow as though he’s surprised.

“What? I’m not that much of a sweet tooth,” you scoff.

“This is coming from the girl who broke into her little brother’s piggy bank to buy some ice cream from a passing street vendor?” he teases.

“That’s the old me. Now, I make enough money to buy my own sweets,” you say smugly.

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say.” If you didn’t know any better, you might have thought he looked endeared.

The pair of you search for Hoseok and Seokjin, only to find that the couple had somehow found a table for all of you somewhere near the back. With one last longing glance at the wondrous chocolate fountain, you walk away with Yoongi in tow. You have to push through throngs of people, a few old familiar faces stopping to say hello before they notice the precarious situation on Yoongi’s plate and let you through. You wave at them, promising to greet them later before turning to Yoongi.

“Isn’t it kind of weird to see all these people again? Not gonna lie, it’s almost hard to recognize a few of them.” You note some of the crazy hair colors and drastic fashion choices that you never thought you’d see a decade ago. An even stranger sight, however, is the occasional schoolmates with little ones attached to their hips. You recognize one of the new parents, your mouth dropping in shock.

“Wait, is that Seulgi? And is that her—”

“Her son? Jesus Christ,” Yoongi mutters, equally as bewildered as you. “Damn, I did not expect her of all people to be one of the first to have a kid. I’d always thought it’d be Sooyoung.”

You nod in agreement. You observe the little boy tug roughly at her skirt, his tiny fists making grabbing motions at the cookies on her plate. “Yeah. I always thought I’d have a kid before Seulgi, at least. What a surprise.”

You speak before you think, and it takes longer than it should have for you to realize your mistake. By then, Yoongi’s expression had already morphed into astonishment, his eyes bugging out as he chokes on his spit.

Your cheeks are burning, your mouth opening and closing as pure panic seizes you. You cannot believe that you just said that! No fucking way! Did you eat lube this morning or something? Why are words just spilling out of your mouth at an unprecedented rate?! You’re begging your brain to come up with something, anything, to control the damage, but alas your thoughts remain resolutely frozen.

If aliens were to choose to study the human race right now, they’d be sorely disappointed to find the lack of intelligent lifeforms. No complex thoughts going on over here! Not one goddamn neuron firing in this bitch!

“O-oh, well, that’s…” he trails off. He clears his throat, his jaw clenched as he awkwardly tries to feign composure. “I didn’t know you were, um, interested? Well, n-not that I think you were averse to the idea of having kids, since I remember you mentioning it when we were, um,” he pauses, struggling to find a word other than dating, or together, or in love, or not painstakingly careful around each other, like every conversation topic was a fucking minefield.

“Younger?” you supply. A safe, neutral word. Yay for you! You deserve a snack from your animal care keeper right about now.

“Right,” he nods. He looks down at his shoes, revealing his flushed neck. He’s frustratingly adorable like this, but it does nothing except distract you. “Were you, um, planning on having a kid with your ex-boyfriend? Before you broke up?”

Ex-boyfriend? Why is he bringing him up all of a sudden? You stare at him in confusion for half a second before realization strikes you. Thankfully (or unthankfully), it seems that Yoongi misunderstands the implication behind your words and has taken your little slip-up the wrong way. For once, you are so thankful that Yoongi almost failed Math during the 10th grade and never learned to put two and two together.

“Definitely not,” you bark out a laugh, but it sounds incredibly forced, even to your own ears. You stare at the plate of food in your hands, a wave of unpleasant memories washing over you. “I doubt he’d ever want kids, anyway. Seokjin used to make fun of him and call him the world’s biggest toddler.”

Yoongi winces, his brow furrowing. “How long were you together?”

“Like, two years?” You shrug. “It felt longer, to be honest. Even if we dated for so long, I could never imagine myself having a family with him,” you say.

It was almost the truth, but not quite. While your ex-boyfriend had undoubtedly been a pain in your ass, he wasn’t completely bad, especially in the beginning. You had enough self-respect that you would have ended the relationship earlier if he didn’t have any redeeming qualities. The main problem was that he had a tough act to follow, and you don’t think any man on earth would be able to live up to your lofty expectations at this point, not when you’d constantly be comparing everyone to—

Yoongi speaks up again. “Seokjin seems to really dislike him. Was he really that bad?”

“Seokjin has never really liked any of my past flings,” you admit, rolling your eyes. (You fail to mention that Yoongi has always been the only exception.) “Despite his own disgustingly high body count, I can’t say he was wrong. Sungjae was a self-centered prick who never gave me the time of day. Hell, I was almost thankful when I caught him cheating. It was the final push I needed.”

Even though it’s been so long, the pain of seeing your ex-boyfriend locking lips with a stranger he had randomly picked up from the street still throbs inside of you. It wasn’t like you were particularly sad or surprised to find out, but you’d always been a bit sensitive to people who kept secrets from you. Plus, it kinda sucked to know that they had fucked on your favorite Egyptian cotton sheets.

“Fucking bastard. If I ever saw him in person, I’d definitely kick his nuts ‘til he’s left with a concave crotch,” he seethes, eyes narrowing.

You laugh. You have to confess that the mental image is satisfying. “You don’t even know what he looks like though!”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m sure Seokjin would tell me if I asked,” he huffs. He mutters something else after, but his volume drops to a whisper and you have to step closer to properly hear him.

“What? Sorry, I missed that,” you say, but you could have sworn he said something like “I wouldn’t have done that if it were me” but you couldn’t be completely sure.

“N-nothing,” he stutters, waving off your confusion. He tacks on a smile, but you can tell that he must have been embarrassed by whatever he’d said. If it was anything like what you thought he’d said, then you could understand. It wasn’t like he was wrong, anyway.

He makes a move to rub the back of his neck, but he greatly underestimates the weight of his platter and nearly drops everything. Something deep inside of you kicks in, and your body instinctively moves to hold his plate with your free hand, saving him from a very messy situation. However, that also means that your hands are now touching each other, your fingertips grazing his knuckles.

Instead of letting him go like a normal person, your ape brain makes the first move (as per usual).

“Your hands are still cold,” you say dumbly. You had wanted to say more, like “your hands are still as cold as they were from when we were younger,” but bringing up your past together, even for something so harmless, still feels taboo. You keep your hands where they are, your eyes locked on his. It feels like you’re in the middle of a dramatic TV show while I Will Go To You by Ailee plays in the background. You can almost imagine the numerous ads for random Korean cosmetic products framing the two of you in slow motion.

Yoongi chuckles, reluctantly pulling away from you. You already miss the sensation of his skin on yours. “I guess some things never change, huh?” he says, wavering slightly. He stares at you for another moment before shaking his head, as though he’s pushing away some unwelcome thoughts. He turns away, leaving you behind to make his way to your table.

Despite the unbidden emotions bubbling up your throat and threatening to spill over, you have no choice but to follow.

At the table, Seokjin and Hoseok speak mutely with each other, though the exaggerated expressions on both their faces tell you that they had been in the middle of an argument. When Yoongi takes his place beside Hoseok, the couple pauses in their bickering to greet you.

Hoseok looks at Yoongi’s overflowing plate. “Dude. I know I teased you about being a skinny twig a while ago, but I wasn’t implying that you gorge yourself.”

Yoongi jolts in surprise before staring back at his plate. Weirdly enough, he looks just as shocked as Hoseok to find the amount of food he had gotten, as though he hadn’t even noticed.

Perhaps he was just as distracted as you had been? you think, staring at your own meager pickings. Oops, you definitely didn’t get enough food to fill your ravenous appetite.

“That’s fine. I can share with you guys,” Yoongi says.

Seokjin peers at your plate, smirking knowingly. “Oh, yes. I’m sure Y/N would love to get some of your food. It seems like the two of you either over or underestimated how much you’d eat.”

“Aww, cute!” Hoseok coos, pinching Yoongi’s cheek. “You still have the habit of getting food for her. That’s so sweet that you still remember that about her!”

You had been in the middle of taking a swig of your water, but Hoseok’s comment nearly causes it to spew out from your nose. You cough harshly, beating your chest as your nose burns, among other things.

“Hoseok!” Yoongi scolds. He hits his friend on the shoulder, but Hoseok’s giggles refuse to stop.

“Oh shit, you’re totally right! Remember all those times when either one of us was forced to third-wheel with them?” Seokjin guffaws. “Y/N always orders something gross whenever we eat out together, and Yoongi ends up having to share half of his food with her when she starts moping.”

“I did not mope!” you retort vehemently.

“You kind of did,” Yoongi mutters under his breath, but you catch him this time.

You cross your arms, scowling. “Did not!”

Yoongi covers his mouth to fake a cough, but you can tell he’s smiling from how his eyes start to crinkle.

“You guys are so cute,” Hoseok sighs, squeezing Yoongi into a hug. Yoongi paws at him weakly, but you know that he enjoys skinship too much to push his friend away.  Still, he pouts cutely, his cheeks puffing up like a pastry.

“Anyway, why were you guys arguing a while ago?” Yoongi asks, changing the subject. “Seokjin-hyung is kinda red in the face.”

“Oh, we weren’t really arguing. Hyung had gotten some wine from the bar but he forgot to get me some,” Hoseok says. He glares sharply at Seokjin. “Bastard.”

“You just said we weren’t fighting!” Seokjin whines. He stands up, raising his arms in surrender. “But fine! I’ll go get your damn wine,” he sulks, groaning when he stretches his back and a few worrisome pops resound from his joints.

“Damn, hyung. I know I told you that I hope you grow up well when we were kids, but I didn’t think you’d take it that literally,” Yoongi jokes, earning a sharp laugh from you. Yoongi glances at you then, visibly proud when he catches the wide grin on your face.

Seokjin gasps, offended. “I am not old! I’m literally a year older than you guys! And here I was, about to get you both drinks as well! It sucks to be the nice one in a friend group,” he sniffs.

“Yes, we are eternally grateful for your service,” Hoseok says sarcastically. “Oh, and remember to get some drinks for Y/N and Yoongi-chi too!” Hoseok adds, slamming his palm on Seokjin’s sore back.

Seokjin yelps, before biting his lip. “Owwie, that hurt,” he moans, winking salaciously.

As the closest person to him, you make it your right to jam your heeled foot onto his gelatinous and push away with a shout of disgust. “Leave, wench!” you snarl, but you’re unfortunately drowned out by his cackling. Even so, he does make his leave, affording your table some level of peace.

“So,” Hoseok starts, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. He cradles his chin with his hands, smiling innocuously at the two of you. “How’s it goin’? Are you both having fun?” he says, laced with meaning.

Ah, you had forgotten; peace was never an option.

Though he is undoubtedly less annoying than Seokjin, you still don’t trust the way he’s staring at you, like he’s waiting for one of you to jump into the other’s lap and recreate his favorite porn scene.

(A terrible thought to have, especially when you’d probably be as begrudging as you should be if you were swayed sufficiently.)

“It’s going fine, thank you very much,” Yoongi responds, giving his best friend a stern look.

You nod wordlessly, unable to trust yourself to keep from stammering and making your frayed nerves apparent (if they aren’t already.) You grab your glass and busy yourself with your drink to delay answering.

You don’t notice that you had taken Yoongi’s cup by accident until you’ve already gulped a third of his water, dropping it with a loud clunk. “Oh shit, sorry! I didn’t mean to drink from yours,” you say sheepishly.

Yoongi smiles at your concern. “No worries. It’s just a cup.”

“Sharing cups too? Damn, what happened while Seokjin and I were away?” Hoseok laughs. Yoongi flicks him lightly on the wrist in retaliation.

“It’s just a cup,” he repeats before turning to you. “Sorry, I think he’s a bit drunk.”

“Haven’t had a single drop of alcohol but whatever,” Hoseok says, shoveling a large piece of tuna belly into his mouth.

The sight of him eating reminds you of your own hunger, your food slightly colder now after talking to Yoongi and your friends for so long. You take a spoonful of chicken, the taste not terrible but not as good as you would like. Your face must give your disappointment away because you hear Yoongi chuckling beside you.

“Bad food again? Guess you really are the same,” Yoongi says, low enough that Hoseok wouldn’t hear. He pushes his plate towards you, carefully nudging some of his bulgogi onto yours. “This tastes kind of sweet, so I’m not really into it. But you prefer it sweeter right?”

All you can do is nod in agreement, watching as he piles your plate with his food. His sleeves, which had already been stained previously by some stray bits of kimchi, become even more saturated with sauces and oils. Now that you see it up close, his sleeves seem a bit too long for him, his palms half covered like sweater paws.  

Without thinking too hard, you place your hands over Yoongi’s wrists, his entire body freezing as he waits for what you will do. Gently, as though you’re approaching a frightened kitten, you fold his sleeves until they’re no longer dangling into his food. The gesture is more intimate than you had intended, his proximity allowing you to smell the familiar fragrance of his cologne.

Paco Rabanne, your mind reminds you. Of course.

You pull away, trying your best to appear as unfazed as possible. You clench your hands and dig your nails into your skin to keep them from trembling. “If I’m the same, you’re no better. You always used to forget to pull back your sleeves before eating.”

After a beat, Yoongi returns from his stupor, licking his lips. “My hands were cold,” he explains.

“I know.” You lick your lips too, suddenly parched despite all the water you have drunk.

A forgotten treasure trove of memories resurrects inside of you, things that you had thought had been buried too deep for you to find again. You are filled with this odd feeling, an awareness. An old wound has resurfaced, one that you thought had healed long ago.

That wound throbs, still.

It’s so strange, being with him like this. A piece of your past that has come to your present, both the same and different as you remember. He knows parts of you that no one else will, as do you with him. But those parts were only ever supposed to stay buried: memories, after all, aren’t supposed to be tangible.

And yet, here he stands: real, alive, close.

It leaves you feeling emptier than before.

The atmosphere grows somber after that, neither of you offering much to the conversation. Hoseok is more than happy to pick up the slack, filling the stark silence along with the occasional hums from Yoongi. When Seokjin returns, he makes no note of the change in mood and focuses more on eating and talking with his partner. It allows the two of you to remain deep in thought.

You are pushing your remaining bits of food around your plate when the soft instrumental music playing on the overhead speaker stops abruptly, and the sound of a microphone being tapped prompts everyone to turn to the front of the ballroom. The host of the event announces that the next part of the reunion will begin shortly and encourages all the performers to head to the sound booth to prepare. A couple of your schoolmates rise from their seats, most of whom were the students you remembered being part of choir or band.

You half-expect Yoongi to stand up as well, but he stays rooted to the spot. Apparently, Hoseok is wondering the same thing.

“Yoongi? Didn’t you say that the organizers asked you to perform some of your songs?” Hoseok questions.

“They did.”

“But?”

Yoongi brings his fingers to his teeth, biting on them anxiously. Your hand makes a move to pull them away, but you think better of it. No need to supply your friends with more teasing ammunition. “But I changed my mind last minute. I felt kind of embarrassed to be performing my own songs. I’m more of a producer, not a performer.”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Yoongi. You’re poggers, as the kids like to say,” Seokjin pipes up.

“I wouldn’t put it like that, but he’s right. A lot of people like your music and think you’re a great performer,” you assure him. “And I like your music, too,” you add shyly.

Yoongi’s hand drops from his mouth, eyes glittering with disbelief. He looks like he wants to disagree with you, but eventually decides to just smile in gratitude. “I didn’t know you listened to my music,” he says quietly.

Before you can reply, Seokjin chooses to interrupt with his migraine-inducing cackle and ruin the moment (as he is prone to do.) “Oh bitch! If you only knew how much this girl loves your music. She even buys your physical CDs AND collects your photocards.”

“I do not!” You scream, flinging a piece of bread at his head. You refuse to peek at Yoongi.

“Don’t worry, Y/N! I collect his photocards too. Wanna trade sometime? I’m missing the one when he still had mint hair,” Hoseok giggles.

“Will the two of you stop? God, it’s like you both had been planning to embarrass us as much as possible,” Yoongi exclaims, incensed.

When neither of them responds, you and Yoongi whip your heads towards them only to find two self-satisfied, smirking shitheads.

“Why watch reality shows when you can make your own?” Seokjin says in lieu of an answer, pointing finger guns. He blows you a kiss with a wink.

You clutch your chest, pretending to wince in pain. “Augh! Poison damage!”

Seokjin scoffs. “Swagever, man. You’re just mad because you’re angry,” he retorts, sticking out his tongue.

While you were occupied bickering with Seokjin, you had not seen that one of your old schoolmates had invited herself to your table. She sandwiches herself in the space between you and Yoongi, bumping you roughly enough to topple you out of your chair.

“What the fuck?” you yelp in surprise, holding onto the table to balance yourself. After straightening back into your seat, you find that your view of the world has become obscured by asscheeks the size of beachballs.

“Hi Yoongi,” she purrs seductively. Or at least, what she thinks is seductive. To you, her voice sounds like nails grating on a chalkboard.

“Hello?” Yoongi says, but it comes out sounding more like a question. It’s clear that he doesn’t remember her name, as he searches your eyes for help. You shrug unhelpfully; you deleted almost all the names of everyone that you had gone to school with right after graduation. Besides, her horrendous plastic surgery makes it even twice as hard to discern her identity.

“Hi Hyejin,” Hoseok speaks up, answering your unspoken question. Oh, right. The name does ring a bell, somewhat. You don’t recall her looking like a cartoon character before, but you suppose beauty standards are meant to be subjective. Maybe she wanted to look like a One Piece character.

Hyejin purses her lips into a tight smile but doesn’t return his greeting. She turns back to Yoongi, bending forward until her boobs are practically smooshed against his face. You wonder idly if stabbing her chest with your chopsticks would cause them to burst like a balloon, or perhaps drain like a puss-filled pimple. Both, you surmise, would be very entertaining to watch.

“It’s been a while since we’ve last seen each other, hm? I heard you’ve been very busy ever since we graduated from high school,” she says, batting her eyelashes.

“Uh, yeah? Some of us have jobs,” he says, passively dissing her. You let out a strangled laugh, causing Hyejin to aim a glare back at you. You bring your (his) cup of water to your lips, feigning innocence.

Hyejin rolls her eyes. “Right. But I meant that you’ve become a real star back in Seoul! I didn’t know you were such a musical prodigy!”

“I’m really not. I just work hard,” he shrugs. He’s visibly uncomfortable, especially since Hyejin was pretty much breathing the same air as him. Every time he leans away from her, she takes it as an invitation to come closer. He is nearly lying horizontally at this point, his back parallel with the floor.

“Humble as well as handsome? My, my. I didn’t think you’d be such a charmer,” she laughs, saccharine sweet. She twirls her dyed brown hair with her perfectly manicured acrylic nails. You rub at the goosebumps forming on your arms, cringing at the phantom sensation of her nails digging into your skin.

“Just spit it out. What the hell do you want so you can leave,” Seokjin interjects. Everything about his demeanor says calm and collected, but the way he presses his lips into a thin line says otherwise. You can sense the air dropping in temperature, despite the embers burning behind his eyes.

“I came over here to ask if Yoongi could give me his autograph, that’s all. I am his biggest fan, after all,” she sulks. She winks at him for extra measure. “And maybe his number too? I’d love to discuss your music with you sometime!”

“Oh, um. That’s—” he cuts off, hesitant to answer. He tugs at his ears nervously, exchanging subtly alarmed glances with you.

You remember that signal very distinctly; it’s a distress call that he would do whenever he needed a way out. He used to do it a lot when you were at social gatherings, especially when people would trap him in boring or awkward conversations. He never did like socializing with people outside his circle, but he was often dragged to parties by his more extroverted friends.

He might be hot as hell with his stylish clothes and jaw-dropping undercut, but he’s still awkward as hell around strangers. When the universe created him, they made sure to keep everything in balance. If they hadn’t been fair, you certainly would’ve died much earlier.

“Yoongi, don’t you have spare CDs of your music?” you quip, dragging Hyejin’s attention onto you. Her eyes narrow imperceptibly, suspicious.

“I do?” He stares at you blankly.

You resist hitting your forehead in exasperation. “Yes, Yoongi. Remember? You left a couple of them in my car.”

Yoongi’s eyes light up in understanding. “Oh, right! I left my CDs. In your car. That we drove here. Together. We came here. Together. Yes, correct.”

From your periphery, you can sense Hoseok barely holding onto his sanity after witnessing that pitiful display. Who can blame him when Yoongi’s infamously terrible acting skills are having their first appearance in over ten years? How he managed to pass Drama class is still a mystery to this day.

“Yup,” you say, popping your p.  You give Hyejin a winsome smile, your hands folded neatly on your lap. You can almost see the steam blowing out of her ears. It fills you with delicious satisfaction. “Why don’t Yoongi and I go get them so he can sign one?”

If her eyes had been made of lasers, you’d be a cauterized mess jumble of organs by now. Can’t say you would regret it either way.

“How kind of you.” She sneers. “Also, I wasn’t aware that you two were still a thing.”

“I wasn’t aware that we were required to inform you of anything,” you retort placidly. You plaster on your fakest grin. “Now, if you can please move your fat ass—I mean, if you can please move out of the way so I can go to my car...” you trail off, gesturing for her to leave.

After a few more indignant sputters on her end, she eventually makes her exit. She throws a couple of poisonous glares, but they go largely ignored by you and your friends. With her gone, you feel as though you can finally breathe fresh air again.

“Great stuff, Y/N! Congrats on winning your first bitch-off,” Seokjin chirps, back to his usual self. You roll your eyes at his antics but smile nonetheless.

“Thanks. I learned from the best.”

Yoongi clears his throat. “So, are we still gonna go?” He looks back and forth from her to you. “Just so we can pretend you actually have my albums in your car?”

“Trust me, Yoongi-chi. She does have your albums in her car.” Seokjin titters. “I wasn’t kidding about the photocard collection.”

“Ignore him. And yes, I do have your albums. I listen to them in my car from time to time,” you say, attempting nonchalance. “I’d hate to give them away to that bitch, but if it keeps her away...”

Away from you is left unsaid, but it’s heavily implied.

(No, you aren’t jealous. You’re above jealousy. It’s not like that bitch would ever have a chance with him anyway, unlike you—!

Woah there, cowgirl. Let’s stay on the right path. Don’t want your heart getting chewed up and spat back out all over again, do you?)

“I’ll just mail you a new one. Signed, if you want. You can probably sell it on eBay or whatever.” He tries to say it like a joke, but his brow is too furrowed to be convincing. (You want to kiss him there and make it go away.)

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so all you do is nod mutely. You stand up and Yoongi follows suit.

“We’ll be right back. If she comes back before then, tell her to scram,” you tell Hoseok and Seokjin. They salute you in response (well, Hoseok does. Seokjin does a very rude gesture with his fingers that is supposed to mimic something explicit. Feel free to use your imagination.)

The walk to the parking lot is a quiet one. The two of you stay side by side, his strides naturally matching your own. Unlike before, you don’t feel the need to fill the silence for once, content to just be in each other’s presence.

The hotel that your reunion is being held at is unusually unpopulated. The lobby consists of a handful of employees milling about, a few of whom look ready to fall asleep on their feet. You nod politely at the bellboy who opens the main doors for you, declining his offer to call the valet service to fetch your car.

“Just hand me my keys. I’ll look for my car in the parking lot.” It wouldn’t be hard to find, anyway. Your beat-up Toyota Corolla looks as though it’s been through three wars and then some.

It isn’t long until you find it parked close to the entrance. You unlock your car from the passenger seat, shimmying the glove compartment open to reveal your collection of CDs.

“Wow, you weren’t lying when you said you listened to my music,” Yoongi says, voice loud amidst the tranquil night. It startles you, and you accidentally knock over some of the albums onto your car floor. On top of the pile lies Yoongi’s most recent album, the one you recall he had released a couple of months ago.

Strange, how just hours ago you were listening to his music on the way to the reunion, only for the boy on the cover of the album to be just inches away from you.

“Yeah, well. You’re a pretty good artist,” you say.

“Only pretty good?” he repeats, amused.

“Don’t push it,” you snort. You grab the album on top, waving it in front of him. “This should be good enough, right?”

He plucks it from your grasp, an unreadable expression clouding his eyes. He chuckles, but there’s an edge of sadness in his tone. “Good enough,” he agrees solemnly.

His sudden quietness is different from the peaceful one before. It’s sorrowful, maybe regretful. He looks like a man stuck in grief.

“Did you know that I didn’t finish this album before releasing it?”

The question seems a little out of the blue, but you answer regardless. “No, I didn’t. They don’t sound unfinished to me.”

“The songs themselves aren’t unfinished,” he explains. He turns the album over, his finger running down the back where the tracklist is printed. “One of my songs never made it in.”

“Couldn’t you have delayed the album launch so you could complete it?”

He shakes his head. “It was actually the first song I finished out of all of them.”

“Then..?”

“It didn’t matter, at the time. I wrote it for someone specifically, but I didn’t want to put it on the album if she—they didn’t listen to it. It wouldn’t matter if the whole world heard that song because only they would understand it.”

“But now? What changed?” Fear and hope run down your spine in tandem when the question tumbles out of you. You hold your breath, and the world shifts from its axis.

But he doesn’t elaborate further.

x x x x x

You return to the hotel after acquiring both an album and some more tension. The album feels heavy in your hands, weighed down by secrets you are still too afraid to uncover. Not that Yoongi would ever willingly divulge them to you—because revealing them would make them real, and making them real would mean you would have to accept them, and accepting them would cause you to—

“They’re gone,” Yoongi announces when you reenter the ballroom. You can’t spot your table from the entranceway, but the certainty in Yoongi’s tone makes you believe him.

“No fucking way. Did those two little shits ditch us to exchange body fluids or something?”

Yoongi grimaces. “Please don’t say it like that. It’s bad enough that I was sitting close enough to Hoseok a while ago that I got accidentally footsie’d by Seokjin hyung.”

You wince, placing a pitying hand on his shoulder. “God didn’t make us his strongest soldiers.”

Yoongi tries dialing Hoseok a few times, but none of the calls connect. “Just my rotten luck,” he groans. He types angrily into his phone, worry creasing his forehead. “He was supposed to be my ride back to his place.”

“Seokjin isn’t answering his phone either,” you say apologetically. “How much do you wanna bet this is part of their evil scheme to leave us together?”

“I don’t doubt it in the slightest,” he deadpans. He sighs tiredly, rubbing his temples. “I suppose I can take a taxi there, but I also don’t know if he’ll be home to open the door for me.”

“Then why don’t you just stay with me?”

You don’t know what you’re doing.

In your head, the offer makes sense. He’s just a friend, you remind yourself. Nothing is stopping you from rekindling a friendship with him. You have purely platonic intentions. Friends help each other out.

Never mind the fact that your heart hasn’t stopped fluttering the entire night. Never mind the fact that you’ve caught yourself staring at him just as many times as you’ve caught him staring at you. Never mind the fact that you don’t want the night to end, not now not ever.

(Never mind the fact that you’ve never quite stopped loving him.)

So when he accepts, you convince yourself that offering had been the right thing to do.

(Maybe. Hopefully. You just wish your heart doesn’t end up as collateral damage.)

The drive home is short, thanks to the late hour. You had asked him if he had wanted to stay until the end of the reunion, but he had declined. “Nothing else left for me there,” he says.

You feel as though he’s hinting at something. Your grip on the steering wheel tightens. “At least I get to keep my album.”

Yoongi laughs, short and sweet.

As much as you try to fight it, sitting in the car with him brings up a lot of memories.

The two of you in the backseat as his older brother drives you to his house for dinner, backpacks filled with crumpled notes and loose pens, a promise of an intense study session for your upcoming exams ready to be broken. You remember how the sky would turn orange in the afternoon, the warm light streaming through the car window and washing Yoongi’s skin with a soft glow.

His cheeks had looked inviting, his lips even more. And you would lean over, kissing him like it was easy. Because it was easy, and you never had to think twice about it.

Your trip down memory lane doesn’t end in the car. As you walk up the steps to your childhood home, you hesitate by the door, your keys frozen over the lock. You can hear Yoongi’s soft breathing behind you, but his presence doesn’t feel as stifling as you thought it would be.

You’re far from being at ease, but you aren’t frightened either. Mostly, you’re just filled with anticipation. Of what? You aren’t sure.

“Excuse the mess. Jungkook is in the middle of moving out so there’s just stuff everywhere,” you say just as you open the door. You toe off your shoes by the entrance, kicking them off haphazardly into the pile of sneakers and boots.

You hear Yoongi huff out a laugh behind you. “Aish, that kid. Still hasn’t let go of his Timbs, huh?”

“He has also been really into chunky sneakers these days. I think he’s finalizing his transformation into Thumper,” you joke. “He’s staying at his new apartment for the weekend with my parents, so you won’t be seeing them. They’re helping him settle in.”

“Really? He didn’t mention moving when we spoke. Where is he moving to?”

“Busan. He and his best friend from college are going to start a restaurant in his hometown. Which is funny, since neither of them are the best chefs.”

Yoongi whistles. “Still, that’s impressive. I can’t remove the image from my head of when he was a kid. He was so scared of anything. He wouldn’t let go of your mom’s leg even if his life depended on it.”

He steps deeper into the house, his gaze jumping from end to end as he surveys your childhood home. You watch him, noting how right he looks standing there in the middle of your living room, like a chipped painting that has been restored.

It’s scary, how easily you’ve accepted him back into this place.

He stays rooted to the spot, the moonlight filtering through the kitchen windows and illuminating his frame. The air pulses with something magical, something dream-like, and it muddles your vision. It’s the only explanation you have for why your chest tightens when he turns to face you, with a gaze filled with sadness, mourning, yearning.

“Jungkook’s height chart is still here,” he murmurs. The small nicks on the kitchen door frame are hard to see, and other people have mistaken them for signs of wear and tear. But he knows what they are because he was there when your mother had etched the first scratch.

He looks at your ancient dining table, his hand brushing over the surface. “This too,” he says, rubbing at a large burn mark on the wood.

“Mom made sure to use placemats after that. I didn’t think a sizzling plate would burn through the table like that,” you say, giggling as you reminisce. “You know, we still use your mom’s galbi jjim recipe. We haven’t found a better one.”

“I’m sure she would love to hear that,” Yoongi smiles, but it fades just as quickly. “It’s so… strange. Being here again and seeing that nothing really changed.”

But things did change. Upstairs, in your bedroom. That night, ten years ago.

You still remember what you had said to him, when you had said it to him, how you had said it to him.

It was a sunny afternoon, the time of day when you’d be on your way home from school. The two of you had stood in your room, neither of you wanting to sit because sitting meant staying, and staying only made this harder.

There hadn’t been many tears in that moment; those were shed only after the realization had sunk in, when you’d fully understood what had happened. At the time, the decision had been as easy as breathing.

Except you had both been drowning. The clock was ticking down to the end of high school, and the inevitable wasn’t slowing down.

Yoongi wanted to chase his dreams in Seoul. You wanted to stay closer to home, with your friends and family.

You weren’t going to be the one to hold him down. You weren’t going to be that person, not when he’s destined for greater things than his hometown could offer—not even a girl who loved him would be worth staying for.

He had suggested it, first. He had been prepared for you to cry, or maybe scream, but you did none of that. Instead, you pulled him close, hugging him tighter than you ever had before. You wanted to make it last, imprint the sensation onto your brain so that his warmth might stay with you, even after he’s little more than a distant memory. You trembled, terribly so, even though the beginnings of summer crept on your skin like a brand.

It’s time to let him go, Time whispered. You refused to listen, just for another moment.

Let me have this last moment, you beg. But Time refused to listen.

“Do you know?” Yoongi had spoken into your neck, had hoped his words would stain there. “Do you know how much I love you?”

Love, not loved. “I did,” you say. You think better of it. “I do.”

When you separated, for good this time, it had left an ache deeper than you could have ever imagined.

But you were young. Young love was supposed to hurt, but it wasn’t supposed to last. “You’ll find others,” your mother had said, brushing a soothing hand through your hair as you sobbed.

Then why? Then why has it lasted this long?

It has been a question you’ve asked yourself, and you’re starting to think that the answer has always been right in front of you.

The answer is standing in front of you: real, alive, close.

“Why didn’t you ever date again?” you ask. You ask even though you know he can lie, if he wants. He can tell you anything and you would believe him.

But he wouldn’t; you know he wouldn’t.

“I was afraid of closing a door that I never meant to close in the first place,” he says. His voice crackles like static, but that might be the blood rushing to your head. He moves toward you but keeps a hand’s width away. Still too far.

He continues. “After that day, when I left,” he swallows, “after I left, I think… I think I left a piece of me with you. A-and I don’t think I ever stopped…” he cuts off, exhaling shakily.

“Stopped what?” you breathe.

“You know.” He waves his hands around helplessly. They fall heavily back down to his sides, defeated. “You know?” he repeats.

You do. Because you are the same. The old wound had never healed; it burns and it bleeds like new.

Your skull feels like it’s stuffed with cotton when you close the distance between the two of you. He circles his arms around your waist, tentative, but he relaxes when you wind your arms around his neck. Your vision is warped, so you choose to close them. You wait, with bated breath, as his warmth inched closer and closer.

The sensation of his lips on yours jolts you back to your senses. His kiss reminds you of your youth, of a love that had made you excited to start your day. Even now, your body remembers, and it rejoices.

The tenderness does not last long before it turns fervent, tongue and teeth crashing like waves against the shore. If his kisses could speak, they would tell you stories of how much he missed you, of how much he mourned the time you had both lost. They would tell you of the days when he’d almost pressed your number onto his phone, of the nights when he’d stare at the polaroids he had kept of you.

They would ask if you still love him like he still loves you.

He tastes of desperation, and you are likely to be the same. It is a desperation you haven’t tasted in years—but it doesn’t feel scary like it used to. Time no longer feels like it’s racing against you, like you had something to prove before the hour was over. This reckless abandon feels like home against your skin—it is an ache being soothed after having ripped your scabs over and over again.

It’s Yoongi.

And when he pulls you to your room, he doesn’t even need his eyes to find his way as his feet still memorize the floorboards. He struggles with the doorknob, forgetting that it always jammed, but it’s okay because you can always teach him again. You can teach him everything again.

The bed creaks under your weights and even the mattress sounds like it is sighing in relief. That sigh echoes from your lips when his hand slips under your clothes, his palm stopping over your heart.

“I won’t break it, this time,” he says. He promises. “If you let me.”

You wonder if he can feel your heart soaring, pounding against your ribs. “I think the line has long been crossed to ask for my permission.” You place your hand over where his is laid. You squeeze tight.

This time, you don’t let him go.

[electronikmilk]

Papa’s Punishment

alternative title: Accidentally Fucking Around and Finding Out

ive been working on this for so long and im sick of lookin at it

rating: explicit/nsfw

Copia x f reader 

contains: dom copia, possible abuse of power, spanking, and pet play. 

You had dozed, then awakened to find that you were still bound in Copia's ornate bed-chamber deep within the abbey walls. 

No, he wasn't Copia anymore. He was Papa now. And you had to address him as such when he wore the paint. That was what he said when he had his Ghouls drag you into his chamber after you had called him the silly little nickname that the other sisters called him behind his back as a joke. Ratman. It was innocent enough since he was fond of the small rodents, or so you thought. Copia's face had grown dark as soon as you uttered it, and it frightened you enough to fall silent after a fit of giggles. Then he reached out and gripped your chin tight before leaning close to address you. 

"Mm. Funny." He said in a way that sounded like he didn't find it funny at all and glared down at you, "It is bold of you to be disrespectful to your Papa when he wears the paint. And that is all I will be to you now. I'm not Copia, not Cardinal, and especially not Ratman. I am Papa, and I will not accept any other title, sister. Perhaps a little lesson is in order so you will remember this." 

Before you could say anything, Copia snapped his fingers, and that was when his two Ghouls surrounded you, grabbed you by the arms, and marched down the halls with you in tow. Everyone within the corridors stopped and watched as the Ghouls dragged you along. Two sisters from the convent whispered to each other and turned their gazes away as if they might be taken away at any second too. They knew where you were going, and it was sure as hell somewhere they didn't want to be, for it was a place of great shame and mystery. You let your head drop in humiliation before your peers, not standing the way they saw you. It was a relief when you finally arrived at Copia's chamber and were taken inside. You said nothing to the Ghouls as they fastened leather cuffs around your ankles, then bound your hands over your head with silk rope. 

"Sorry, sister," One of them had said. They removed the coif and veil of your habit, then pulled out the pins that held your hair in place so that it fell loose, "We're just following Papa's orders. I'm sure you understand."

All you gave them was a contemptuous look until they left. 

You had struggled against your restraints until you eventually gave up, falling asleep despite your buttocks pushing against the hard stone wall behind you. How long had that been? There was no clock or window in the room, so it was hard for you to tell. Perhaps a few hours. Long enough for you to wake up with a sore neck, anyway. The room itself lay in shadow and unbroken stillness. You winced as you turned your head to look around the room. The only illumination offered to you was from a small antique lamp on an ink-stained writing desk in the corner. The dim light threw long uneven shadows on the high arched ceiling above. A king-sized bed sat against the wall opposite you with a canopy bed frame draped with black cloth. It made it look like a dark, cavernous mouth that was ready to swallow you whole. A tall mahogany bookshelf containing several taxidermied rats positioned in various poses stood near the door. You made a face at the furry ornaments. It was definitely Copia's room. 

Your stomach growled, and the sound of it in the stillness of the room made it seem more like a lion's roar. How long Copia planned to keep you in here and what his intentions were, you didn't know for sure. You just hoped he wouldn't starve you. The thought sent a sudden jolt of panic through you; your mind flashed images of you left to rot in a cell in the abbey basement. You knew that the cells had been abandoned for centuries, just collecting dust and acting as storage for Yuletide decorations. But Copia had changed since he finally became Papa Emeritus IV. You had always thought him awkward as a Cardinal, sometimes even amusing in his antics, but he was always just that: awkward, no one to be scared of. It was a curious and abrupt transformation; He held his head high now, and his stride was no longer unsure or clumsy. When he wore the paint, he had an air of authority, of strength and pride no one knew he had. He wanted respect, and he demanded it among the clergy with an iron fist. Everyone was to address him as Papa only and woe unto anyone who didn't comply. At first, you had to admit his newfound confidence in his power was something to admire, covet even. That is until the sisters of the order were no longer safe from his wrath, then it became something to be feared. Copia had forgiven slips of the tongue and had given warnings that he said he would only offer once. If it happened again, however, there would be a severe punishment to follow.  

Sister Claire was the first to be punished. Claire had always been hotheaded and often butted heads with her superiors for the sake of her own amusement. She had been no different with Copia two months ago. On your way to your weekly duty to clean the chapel, you stumbled upon Copia, two Nameless Ghouls, and Claire in the middle of the empty hall. You seemed to go unnoticed by all four. Curious, you slipped into one of the corridor's alcoves and peeked around the corner, as not to be seen. As you listened closely, you caught the tail end of a heated argument over the state of the abbey's gardens. Claire was on a tirade, ranting about how Copia's lack of dedication to employing a proper gardener made the grounds look like it was in shambles. She had addressed the new Papa as Cardinal several times, much to Copia's irritation. The former Cardinal stood back with folded arms and a frown while the hot-blooded sister babbled on about how this needed attention and how that needed fixing. She addressed him incorrectly the entire time. It amazed you how bullheaded Claire could be. 

"Cara," Copia finally interrupted after Claire had called him Cardinal for the fifth time, his voice becoming stern. "I understand that you're upset, but I have made it more than clear that everyone within this church is to call me Papa. And frankly, I will not tolerate your blatant disregard for my rules." 

"Don't you 'Cara' me!" Sister Claire shot back, " And I'll call you Papa when I'm damn well good and ready. But until then, I think I'll keep calling you Cardinal, Cardinal." 

"Basta! Enough!" Copia shouted suddenly, grabbed Claire by the wrist, and dragged her behind him as he headed further down the hall, luckily away from your direction. "I have been patient with you, sister, with all of you. But no more!"

Claire resisted, trying to wrench from his grasp and yelling at him to let her go. Copia ignored this and tugged her along anyway. When she started cursing and slapping at him, Copia gestured for a Ghoul to take her about the waist and carry her. Claire shrieked like a banshee and kicked her legs in the air when she was lifted. Copia gave the Ghoul a sharp command for them to silence her, and the Ghoul clapped a hand over Claire's mouth, muffling the scream as they hauled her away. You watched the whole display in shock, unable to move or look away. When all four of them disappeared around a corner, you crept out from your hiding place on shaky legs. You quickly made your way to the chapel without encountering anyone else, and it was a relief to you. You tried to put what you saw out of your head, but as you tended to your regular duties, the sound of Claire's screams resonated in your head. 

You didn't see Sister Claire again until late into the evening. She seemed no worse for wear, having neither a bruise nor scratch on her. But she was timid, quiet, and obedient, you noticed when Sister Imperator asked her to sweep and wash the floor, which she almost scurried to do. When the other sisters asked her where she had been, Claire just shook her head frantically. Her pretty face grew red, and a look of shame and fear that concerned you twisted her features. 

"I can't tell you!" was all she said and nothing more. 

It wasn't too long until other insubordinate sisters fell victim to Copia's fury. Each one disappeared into his chambers for hours at a time, and when they were set free, none of them spoke of what they went through. You could only speculate, and what you brewed up in your head terrified you. All manner of dark medieval tortures often raced by: pears of anguish, iron chairs, Spanish donkeys, breast rippers, and thumbscrews. You knew all of that was impossible, however. None of the other sisters had a mark on them when they returned; they barely even a hair out of place, so what kind of punishment was wicked enough to force them all into silence? Whatever it was, you tried so hard to avoid it. You never spoke out of turn, tended to your duties without complaint, you even baked a cake for Copia on his birthday. But despite all your effort, misfortune still befell you over a joke that wasn't even that funny. Your throat tightened as tears began to prickle behind your eyes, and you dreaded what kind of torment waited for you in this dark room. 

You were almost lost in your contemplation of it all when you heard the heavy wooden door open. You saw the tall, lean figure of Copia enter the room and close the door behind him, a plate of food in one hand and a blood-red velvet bag in the other. He almost seemed like a specter, dressed in a figure-hugging black suit --the one that you said he looked handsome in to gain his favor. His face was bare of paint, save for his eyes. He had lined them with black, smudged eyeliner, making his mismatched gaze smoldering and intense. 

He made his way to you with both items in hand. He stayed back a few feet, the velvet bag swinging slightly at his side. The faint aroma of roasted chicken found your nose, and the delectable smell of it made your mouth water. Copia gazed at you with narrow eyes, his expression unreadable. You lowered your eyes and sucked in a breath, petrified of what was to come. You waited for yelling, cursing, for the food to be thrown at you, anything, but Copia just muttered something under his breath, went to place the plate and bag on the bed, then returned to undo all your restraints. You stood there free with stiff, aching arms. You wanted to stretch them but didn't dare make any movement that Copia might disapprove of. You kept your eyes down, only bringing them up once to see Copia sit on the edge of the bed with the plate in his lap, then darting them back to the floor. You felt the subtle pressure of his gaze on you for what seemed like a long time. 

"Come here." Copia finally broke the silence.

You obeyed and took a tentative step forward. 

"No." He said sharply, making you freeze, "On your hands and knees. Crawl to me." 

Your head jerked up, eyes wide in shocked disbelief. Your breathing hitched, and your heart started to hammer. You hesitated, and Copia frowned at you. He raised his gloved hands and slapped them together once, hard. It sounded like the cracking of a whip in the quiet. "Now, sister." 

You let out a little yelp and dropped to your knees. You hurried as you crawled over to Copia, stopping just before his feet. He gave a hum of satisfaction.

"Ah, excellent. You're obedient. That is good, my dear. It will make your ordeal go more smoothly." 

Ordeal. The word made you shudder. 

"But first, you must be hungry, si? You've been waiting here a long time."

Your stomach let out another grumble. You said nothing. You kept your eyes fixed on the glossy leather of Copa's black shoes as your apprehension deepened. You didn't want to look up at him; all at once, he seemed large, mighty, and terrible, like he could crush you underneath those patent leather soles if he so desired. He could make you suffer, and no one would witness it. It was just you and Copia. You and Papa.

"Say 'yes, Papa' or 'no, Papa,'" Copia said. "And I'm sure I don't need to tell you to be respectful." 

"I...I-" You stammered, then you swallowed hard, trying to compose yourself, "Yes, Papa." 

"Good girl." He said. "Now, kneel up and look at me." 

You did as commanded, and you realized as you looked up at him that you were crying. Through the blur of tears, you saw Copia's hand reach for your face. You flinched a little, then relaxed when you only felt the fingers wipe away your tears and smooth your hair back almost affectionately.

"Oh, come now. I have not been mean just yet, my dear. Don't cry." He soothed, "There will be plenty of time for that later, but if you're well behaved and do what I say, Papa will be gentle with you. Do you understand?" 

You nodded, sniffling and letting Copia caress your face. It comforted you, if only a little bit.

"Answer me properly,"

"Yes, Papa. I understand." You said.

"Very good, very good," Copia said. He leaned down and pressed his lips to your forehead before letting you eat the slices of succulent chicken breast on the plate with your hands. After you finished, he took a sprig of green grapes and fed them to you one at a time. He watched in obvious amusement when you spat the seeds into your hand and timidly discarded them onto the plate, careful of every move you made. When he got to the last three, he took one and held it up just out of your reach. He smiled when you blinked up at him, confused. 

"Up, cara," He said, "Show me a trick." 

You bit your lip, blushing, and again, you hesitated. You shook your head before you realized what a mistake it was. Immediately, Copia took the plate, set it aside, and then gathered you up to toss you over his lap so that your legs dangled over the floor. You gasped in surprise and fear when he flipped your skirt to expose your panties. When you felt the sting of his gloved hand spank you hard, you couldn't help but let out a cry. One great slap after another fell on your buttocks, sounding thunderous in your ears. You heard yourself taking in sharp gasps of pain with each strike. His hand seemed solid and heavy like a paddle as it spanked you, over and over, hitting you on the right cheek, then the left, and then covering your thighs with smacks while your ass stung and throbbed. You clenched your teeth to stifle your cries, and when you tried in vain to wiggle away, Copia held you in place and rewarded you with more vigorous blows, swift ones that whipped you like a strap. And soon, you realized you were becoming frantic, tears streaming down your cheeks. You tried to be still, but your body squirmed and writhed of its own accord. Now Copia worked only the backs of your thighs, where the punishing hand lingered and struck hard until you were sure that the flesh there was red and inflamed. 

"Papa, please!" You finally wailed and broke into choking sobs.

The blows stopped. You didn't move. You just shut your eyes and wept as Copia's hand now moved along your buttocks languidly. He stroked your thighs as if to soothe them.

"Now, do you see why I ask you to do as I say?" Copia crooned, "I can be cruel, sister. Much more than this, I assure you. The other sisters know what I can do, especially Sister Claire. She knows the worst of it. Lucifer's name, she was like a devil herself, all teeth and claws until I tamed her. The other Papas have spoilt her and the others rotten. Not just the sisters, but the brothers, too, and the priests, the bishops. They all have little to no manners, no respect. So I have to take it upon myself to teach them." 

You shook against his legs as he told you this. He rubbed little circles in the small of your back, then he squeezed your buttocks, sending a rush of sensation along your body that made you flush. You thought of poor Sister Claire and what she must have gone through that was enough to break her. Vivid images of whipping belts, heavy wooden paddles, and flesh crisscrossed with angry welts made your stomach sink, so you stopped. 

'I have to be good.' You thought. It was better to surrender than suffer the same fate as the others, better to leave with your good reputation with Copia intact. After all, he said he would be gentle if you obeyed, and you decided you would. You hoped he would keep his word, and you let your body slacken in resignation.   

"I like to play games with them." Copia continued, "I like to order them around the room, fetching whatever I throw for them because it pleases me or whatever else suits my mood. Sometimes I even strap them down and use the paddle. But I never hurt them, not severely. I happen to be a reasonable man, after all. Oh, but that would be too hard for you, wouldn't it? You're too sweet for the paddle, too soft. It's just a pity you disobey me, call me names. Do you think yourself too good to call me by my proper title, sister? Too good to follow my direction?" His hand tightened threateningly on your thigh, then you felt it leave your skin, and you were terrified he might spank you again. 

"No, Papa," You said in a panicked whisper. 

"Do I need to punish you like the others?" 

"No, Papa. I'll be good, I promise." 

"Yes," Copia sighed, his hand now playing with your hair instead of punishing you, "You will be perfect for me, won't you?"

"Yes, Papa." 

"Good."

Copia pulled you back up and set you on the floor. You had stopped crying, though your lips still trembled. You knelt there and awaited his command. Again, he took a grape and held it up for you. This time you didn't hesitate to take it from his fingers with your mouth. He held the next one high enough to make you raise yourself up on your heels to get it. He then tossed the last grape into the air, over your head so that it bounced and rolled a few feet away when it hit the floor. 

"Fetch, little puppy." He commanded, a smirk playing on his lips. 

You obeyed shyly. When you crawled back and dropped it into Copia's open hand, he let out a hearty laugh. 

"You're easy to train." He said and popped the fruit into your mouth, "Perhaps I should make you my little pet when we're finished here." 

You didn't really want to eat it, but you did anyway, seeds and all. Copia beamed at you, his smile genuinely kind. 

"Lovely, my dear." He whispered, his voice low and sweet. Then he gathered you in his arms once more and kissed you deeply. It sent a shock through you, settling into a knot in your stomach that made you shiver against your will. Copia kissed the smoothness of your forehead, kissed your soft hairline, your eyelids, and the tip of your nose. They were tender, gentle, like butterflies that brushed against your skin with their silky wings, and you lifted your head to receive them. He kissed your cheeks, then returned to your parted lips. You let out little sighs as he kissed you despite your fear, which now melted away a little bit as your body seemed to soften all over. Copia moved and rose to stand, pulling you up with him into his embrace. He pulled you closer to his body once you were steady on your feet; his kisses left your face to explore along your jaw and the line of your throat. His slim arms were surprisingly strong as they held you, and his lips were soft. They tickled against the sensitive skin of your neck as they trailed down. His hands started to roam your body, stroking your hips, groping at your ass and the backs of your thighs. It sent delightful shivers along your skin and down your spine. It made you feel weak, dissolving, aroused. Any fear you felt a minute ago faded into a haze of sudden lust. You couldn't stop yourself from throwing your arms around his neck and moaning. The action made the kisses harder, more fervent. When you felt Copia open his mouth to bite you here and there as if to taste you, you whimpered, and your body melted all the more. You felt your breasts against his chest, and you wanted to press them to him harder. You almost did when Copia pulled away, slipping out of your arms. The loss of sensation was nearly gutting.

You stood there dazed, swaying, and taking in uneven breaths. Copia's own breath came heavy and deep as he straightened his clothes to disengage himself. You could see his arousal through the tightness of his pants, and you bit your lip. If only your punishment could be just this, but you knew it wouldn't be. Copia appeared to be fighting to contain himself, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Once he was composed, he let out a quiet laugh. It was almost musical in its softness. Your body burned as you watched him, aroused but at the same time fearful of punishment. You would do anything to please him, to keep him gentle like this, so you waited.  

"Pardon me, cara. You gave in much faster than I anticipated, and I almost lost myself." Copia said, catching you in his gaze again. His lips spread slowly into a grin when he observed you flushed with desire. "And still, you wait for my command. I admit I didn't quite expect you to be as obedient as you are, and I would reward you, but I want to play one of my games with you first." 

Before you could protest, he took the velvet bag off the bed, opened it, and plunged his hand inside. He pulled out a spiked leather collar that looked like it was meant for a large dog. A black leash was affixed to it. You felt your breath leave you when Copia undid the collar and eyed you with a deliberate leer. You swallowed, then lifted your head so that Copia could fasten it onto you. He shook his head.

"Not yet." He said, "Take off your clothes." 

Your face burned as you obeyed. You took a few steps back and hurried to shed your dress, slip, shoes, and stockings, but you hesitated yet again once you were in your bra and panties. You felt so naked already, so vulnerable. You didn't know if you could bear it to be completely nude. You tried to shield yourself by bringing your hands up and wringing them. It did little to conceal you. Seeing this, Copia approached and kissed your temple. 

"You can keep them on. Now, my little puppy..." He buckled the collar to fit snuggly around your neck and left the leash dangling between your breasts. "You have been very, very good so far, apart from your little slip of decorum, but I want to see just how obedient you can be. You know a well-trained dog always follows its master's commands, yes?" 

An icy prickle crawled up your spine, sending shivers through your arms and making your heart clench in your chest before hammering hard again. 

"Yes, Papa..." You said as expected though uncertainty and fear laced your voice. Copia rubbed your shoulders, his hands firm and soothing at the same time. His touch made you feel almost woozy, dreamy even in your unease. 

"I will make it simple: Tonight, you're my pet, sister, and I am your master. As your master, I will give you commands, and you will do them as perfectly as possible to please me. Do what I tell you, and you will be rewarded. Disobey, and you will be punished. Ah, don't be afraid; I don't think you will disappoint me much, but..." Then he pressed closer to you, leaning in close to your ear so that you felt his breath caress your skin, "I confess I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy spanking that plump bottom of yours." His hand slid down and grabbed your ass before giving it a playful swat. You blushed. You felt the arousal rise in your core again. It flooded in, threatened to sweep you away in its erotic current, and you lowered your head, overcome by shyness. Copia lifted your chin and shook his head at you again.

"No. None of that." He admonished, "I want you to keep your gaze up and your manner attentive. And don't hide your body. I have been fair enough to let you keep your underwear on. Now let me see you." He took both your wrists and forced them down to your sides, then prodded your shoulders so that you straightened your back. You stood erect and grew embarrassed now that your posture didn't hide you. Copia nodded in approval, "Yes, much better."

His eyes roamed up and down your body, taking every inch of you in. You wanted so desperately to cover your stomach, your chest, to tear off the collar. Of course, you didn't dare any of it. You couldn't imagine what he would do to you if you were foolish enough to disobey him again; you didn't even want to think about it. 

For a moment, Copia seemed to be thinking, then he smiled. His eyes gleamed like gems in the lamplight. He took the leash and wrapped it around his hand a few times to make it short.

"Clasp your hands behind your back and keep them there. And open your legs wider." He said, then nudged your feet apart until they lined up with your shoulders. You kept your hands behind your back as commanded. It was worse than keeping your hands at your sides. This position arched your body a little more and forced your breasts out. You felt dreadfully exposed, and what was even more excruciating was having your legs apart. But what could you do other than what was commanded? Could Copia be so cruel as to punish you even if you threw yourself at his feet and begged for his mercy? You weren't sure, and you didn't want to risk it. He would have his way, and there was nothing you could do about it. Then you wondered, did you even mind? The pleasure that had built now ebbed away slightly, but it wasn't far from reaching you again. If Copia touched you, it would surely wash over you again. Part of you wanted to drench yourself in that pleasure, to swim and melt in it completely. A corner in your mind wished with all your might that Copia would let you; the rational part of you recoiled at your desire, it being so undignified and sudden. You tried to let your head drop a little, and immediately Copia pulled the leash up with a quick tug that snapped it back in position.

"I said to keep your head up," He said, his voice low, menacing. His hand didn't drop or loosen the leash, so your head remained up. "I will not tell you again, sister. Now be still and don't move until I tell you to."

Copia gazed down at you with such ferocity that you stood rigid and kept your lips pressed together tight. The new Papa was frightening looking but very handsome in the dim light that made his face angular, his eyes even more smoldering. You marvelled at him for a moment, then with a shock, you felt Copia's free hand on you. You felt his fingers trail down the side of your neck and down to your breasts. He grabbed at your right breast, cupping it as if to feel its weight, then kneaded it slowly until it sent shivers through you. His thumb brushed over your now hardening nipple through the material of your bra. He did the same with your left. He then imprisoned the nipple and squeezed it rhythmically between his fingers before reaching for the other to give it the same treatment. A rush of shameful pleasure shot through you and settled between your legs, making your sex grow warm as if it could also blush, and you held back a moan with great effort. Copia pulled on the leash, making you lean slightly closer to him. 

"Kiss me," He whispered. As soon as he commanded, you moved to catch his lips in a deep kiss almost too quickly, still keeping your hands behind your back. Copia sucked at your mouth, then opened it with his tongue as his hand went between your open legs and, without warning, stroked your sex through your panties. You uttered a sharp cry against Copia's lips before you could stop yourself. Your body immediately acknowledged him with a twitch of your hips and a soft discharge of fluids while you struggled to swallow another moan. You squirmed, resisting the urge to close your legs with everything you had. Copia broke away from your lips to kiss your earlobe, then he nibbled at it as his hand continued to stroke you. His fingers moved in slow circles now, pressed harder until they found the sensitive mound of your clitoris through the moistening cloth. You gave a soft, open-mouthed gasp and your hips jerked forward in supplication. You wanted to grind yourself on his fingers, rock your hips for more, but the sheer gracelessness of it seemed too much for you. Besides, you weren't sure if it was something he would approve of or chastise, so you stayed as still as you could, your legs starting to shake under your weight. Copia pulled back and smiled at your flushing face, then pulled the crotch of your panties to the side and glided two of his gloved fingers along the delicate folds of your labia. The fingers teased at the moist lips and continued to massage your clit in more circles, even slower ones that drew out the sensation. Breathy moans spilled from your lips. The pleasure washed through you, mounting and mounting as he worked you. Beneath your ecstasy, you felt a twinge of embarrassment at how quickly you had become wet for him. It was forgotten in an instant once Copia slid a finger inside you, then a second. You shuddered and cried aloud. Your sex quivered at the sudden penetration, and your cry melted into a long, low moan. Copia kissed the corner of your mouth.

"That's it," Copia said softly, pulling his fingers out, then sliding them back in slowly. Then again and again. "Don't resist me. Be a good girl for your Papa." 

Your hips moved forward at the sound of his voice. Once so frightening, but now smooth and rich as velvet. He was so close to you now, and for the first time, you could smell his cologne. It was warm, spicy, and delicious to you, almost intoxicating. Your eyes stared through heavy lids at Copia's lips. They were full yet strong, set into a faint smile that struck at a cord of desire in you that made the penetration even more pleasurable. You wanted to kiss and kiss those lips until you had your fill. You felt your sex start to throb, and you began to gasp, but before it became too much for you, Copia dropped the leash, withdrew his fingers, and pushed you back, that seductive little smile still there. You let out a disappointed moan that would have been humiliating had you done it to anyone else. 

"That's enough for now," Copia said, "Get down on your knees." 

Your mind whirled as you let yourself float down until you sat on your heels on the floor, your legs still slightly apart. Your thighs trembled under you, and your throbbing craved relief. You kept your hands behind your back. You feared that if you let them fall to your sides, you would lose control and throw yourself at Copia in desperation. The only thing you allowed yourself to do was writhe, clasping your hands as tight as possible. You felt the wetness of your sex between your legs, sticky, slick, and hot. 

You let out a sigh, looking up at Copia, your lips parted, your body wanting more.  He snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor.

"All fours." He ordered.

You fell onto your hands and knees. You arched your back, your buttocks lifted as if to be presented. Your body tingled in arousal at doing so, knowing that Copia could see you doing it. You wiggled your hips a little bit, and you were shocked at your own boldness. 

'Fuck it, I don't care. I don't care.' You thought.

Copia stepped forward, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat. 

"Good girl," He said, and he crouched down to take a closer look at you, "Does my little puppy want more?" 

"Yes, Papa." You said softly, "Please." 

"Then I think you should clean up the mess you made." Copia held up the hand that touched you. The gloved fingers were still glistening with your juices. He touched them to your lips, and you took them into your mouth without a thought. You sucked on them, letting your tongue swirl around the digits. The taste of leather and your own fluids mixed with your saliva, and when Copia pulled them away, you swallowed. The flavor lingered, both tantalizing and odd to you. 

Copia stood and made an airy gesture to your bottom.

"Wag your hips for me." He said, and he laughed when he saw your face go red, "It's no use being shy now, sister. Unless you want me to take my belt off and make good use of it. You don't want that, do you?"

Your breath caught in your throat. You shook your head. 

"That's what I thought. Now, put your face to the floor and swing those hips." 

Your face flamed as you lowered it until you all but kissed the floor, your ass high up in the air. You churned your hips and hoped it was pleasing. You felt Copia take the leash from the floor and give it a quick tug. 

"Faster. Arch your back more."

You lowered as you were told to do and arched your back almost uncomfortably, your cheek sealed to the floor. A groan escaped you at the touch of the cold stone on your chest. Then in utter submission, any sense of pride, if there was indeed any in the first place, left you, and you wagged your buttocks back and forth like an excited dog wagging its tail for its master. Above you, you heard the creak of the bedsprings as Copia sat. You felt another tug on the leash, and you lifted your head. Copia sat back on the bed with his legs spread apart, the bulge of his erection in full view. Your sex seemed to swell at the sight of it. 

"You please me very well, sister," Copia said. He tugged on the leash again to bring you forward. "No more playing. Come here, let Papa reward you." 

"Papa..." You whispered. You hurried to him on your hands and knees. You kissed the tops of his shoes on an impulse, then his ankles. Copia didn't protest, so you kissed his knees and dared to run your hands along his inner thighs and kiss them as well. His thighs were rather shapely and solid under his clothes, pleasant to touch. When your hand rubbed over his groin, Copia let out a soft moan. Encouraged, you leaned over and kissed the waist of his pants, still rubbing the bulging sex. 

"Undo them." Copia's hand stroked your hair.

You didn't hesitate to undo the button and zipper of his pants. And now you were staring at his cock through his boxers, a small wet spot formed on the dark cloth. Again, you leaned down, placing a little kiss there, then you darted your tongue out and licked it. The hard cock twitched in its prison as if it asked to be free. You looked up at Copia with lustful, inquiring eyes, and you were delighted when he nodded at you. 

"Yes, cara. You can touch it." 

You pulled the elastic fabric down until his cock sprung free from its confinement. It stood tall and thick. A bead of clear fluid seeped from the tip, and you stared at it, surprised by its length and size. You took it in your hand, stroked it, felt its hardness and warmth. You couldn't help but wonder if the others knew Copia was quite well-endowed. You caressed the shaft up and down, tightening your hand every so often at the base of Copia's cock. Copia moaned as you did so, his head lolling back slightly. Your heart fluttered in your chest. It felt good to know that you gave him pleasure, that you pleased him enough to avoid his wrath and to even reward you. What an honor this must have been! A ripple of relaxation washed over you. You closed your eyes and took the tip of the cock into your mouth, suckling on it before taking it deeper in.

Copia gasped above you and bucked his hips. The action drove the shaft even deeper into your mouth, and you sucked on it hard, bobbing your head with a steady rhythm. It nudged the back of your throat, droplets of salty liquid mixed with the taste of his skin. Copia's thighs shivered, and his breath quickened. You moaned as you continued to push up and down on his cock until his hips started to shake. 

"Fuck, sister," Copia grunted, "That's enough!"

He grabbed your hair and pulled your head away. He didn't pull you hard enough to hurt, but you still gasped once you felt the fingers grip your hair. When he released you, he motioned for you to stand. You obeyed.

"Take everything off and lay on the bed." He told you, almost breathless. 

The collar was the first to go; you unbuckled it and threw it aside, happy to be rid of the awful thing. You unclasped your bra and let it slip from your shoulders. Though the air was cool on your now naked breasts, your nipples grew hot and erect. A sudden, inexplicable desire to entice Copa came to you as you lowered and stepped out of your panties. 

'Do it.' Your lust-clouded mind ordered you, and you did. 

When you straightened, you locked eyes with Copia as you ran your hands over your breasts, pushing them together and biting your lip. A dark look flickered across Copia's face, and he stood with a low growl. He snatched your upper arm and yanked you to him. 

"You dare tease me in my own room after I've given you an order?" He hissed, then gave a wicked smile, "You must like being punished, sister. But we will save that for another time." 

He turned to fling you down onto the bed. You fell back onto the mattress; the sheets and coverlet were soft and plush underneath you. You had little time to enjoy it before Copia descended on you with rough kisses, his hips grinding against yours, his cock prodding at your thigh. His hand grabbed and kneaded your breast hard. But you wanted him so badly that you scarcely noticed how tight his fingers dug into your flesh. He then gave it a cruel slap that drew a loud moan from you. It was an exciting mix of pain and pleasure, and you wanted more.

"Again." You pleaded. You arched your back to offer your chest to him, and you wrapped your legs around his hips. Copia rose from his kisses. It was his turn to lock eyes with you as he lifted his hand and struck you again, just a little bit harder than the first time. You whimpered and squirmed underneath him. Copia positioned and moved his hips so that the shaft of his cock rubbed along your slick pubic lips, grazing your sensitive, engorged clitoris. You strained against him, tried to rock your hips to feel more of that rigid member. Copia looked amused by your torment. 

"Tell me what you want." He leaned down again and sucked at your nipples, bit at them playfully with his teeth. Your hands went to cradled his head to you, little sighs and moans leaving you unrestrained. 

"Fuck me." You murmured into his hair. 

As soon as the words left your mouth, Copia rose, brought his cock to your opening, then drove it into you in one fluid motion. You cried out. Your head fell back, and your body seemed to explode in pleasure. His cock was a thick, piercing thing inside you, bathing in your juices as he drew back and plunged into you. His thrusts were brutal, delivered in almost snapping motions that made the bedsprings creak under you. You heard yourself unleash loud, guttural moans with each solid thrust, wholly overcome by denied passion. Copia buried his face in your neck, his breath making the skin hot as he panted. The agonizing pleasure rose in your core, swelling, ready to erupt in a shower of sparks behind your skull, in your loins. Then all at once, your wet sex tightened around Copia and throbbed violently until you were all but screaming in ecstasy. You clutched Copia while the spasms rolled through you, and you let your legs spread wide, allowing Copia to slam into you unhindered until he also gave a small cry and shuddered above you. Hot, gushing fluid flowed into you and lay you back with your chest heaving in gasps. 

Copia pulled out and collapsed beside you. You turned on your side to face him; his features were soft-looking, almost angelic in their exhaustion. His eyes drooped closed, his forehead glistened with sweat. You brushed his disheveled hair back, leaned close, and kissed his brow, tasting the saltiness on your lips before pulling away. Copia opened his eyes, gazed at you lovingly, then took you and cradled you to his chest. The fabric of his suit felt luxurious on your naked skin in the afterglow, and you snuggled close to it, sighing. You both stayed that way for a few minutes, with Copia threading his fingers through your hair. You yawned, and your eyes started to feel heavy.

"We can't fall asleep," Copia said, shaking you a bit to rouse you, "I've kept you here long enough, and the other sisters must be out of their minds with worry by now." 

"Yes, Papa." You nodded, sat up, and winced a little. Your privates ached from their hard riding. You tried to hide it, only making a slight noise in your throat. It seemed you couldn't fool Copia, however. He also got up and rubbed your lower back, kissing your cheek.

"Was Papa too rough with you, cara?" He asked. You shook your head. 

"No, Papa, I'll be fine. It'll pass." You reassured him. 

"Alright, but I will have Cirrus check on you later tonight anyway," He patted your hip, "And what happened here must be a secret. You know this, right? Otherwise, I'd have to gag you and march you through the grounds. It's a little, eh, display, you could say, that I've come up with to officially demonstrate my authority to the others. I have yet to put it into practice, and It'd be unfortunate to have you be its first victim." 

You bowed your head, not in fear, but again in reassurance.

"Yes, Papa. I won't tell anyone." You said obediently. You crawled out of bed and gathered your clothes. Copia zipped and buttoned up his pants, then stood as well and straightened his hair. 

"Good. Now, get dressed and get back to the convent. Tell the Ghouls to run you a bath when you get there. Say it's my orders, and they'll do it." 

"Okay." A bath sounded lovely to you as you redressed. If only Copia could join you...

"And sister," Copia's voice came low, playful. You turned, and you saw his eyes gleam at you. Your pulse quickened.

"Yes, Papa?" You asked.

"Don't forget that I said I would save your other punishment for next time." He winked at you, and your heart soared. 

"I won't." You smiled. 

"Good girl."

You bid him good night, then left his chamber, secretly hoping that that time would be soon.

[moonctzeny]

love to hate me

request:  celebrity! jaehyun + enemies to lovers + “don’t you want to know how i feel?”

pairing: friends to enemies to lovers! jaehyun x female reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff... this fic has it all folks

word count:  7.514k

warnings: toxic behaviour, public sex, light restraining, jaehyun pulls a ‘white boy punching the wall’ at some point 

summary: “You and Jaehyun meet as SM trainees, developing a friendship until he debuts and you deicde to leave the company and pursue a solo career. When you reunite again in a music show and he acts like he barely knows you, you stubbornly begin a series of hate-brimmed sex rendez-vous. Your touch-and-go relationship continues on, until a song collaboration will force you both to deal with all your repressed feelings for each other”

a/n: this is the longest it has ever taken me to finish a fic.. I have a love-hate relationship with this (no pun intended XD). I hope whoever requested this likes it!

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Of-fucking-course you had to bump into him out of all people at the vending machine. All you wanted was a drink to refresh you before you got up on stage, and now you have to deal with Mr. Too Good For This World and his relentless teasing. His eyes, lit up by an amusement that was also evident in his smirk, stayed glued on your body, raking up and down at it for a second too long. Not that you didn’t like it.

“Stare much?”, you bark at him in hopes of snapping him out of his trance, and push through him to punch in the code of your favorite drink. But alas, he always had a comeback ready on the edge of his lips.

“You look ridiculous”, he states and you have to admit that your outfit, though fitting for the Halloween special of today’s music show, was way different than anything else he had ever seen you in. Reincarnated as Dorothy Gale for the night, your stylists had chosen a short, light blue checkered dress, with red stilettos that gave a sexy twist to the character’s ruby slippers. Hair neatly braided in two pigtails, decorated by ribbons and topped off by glittery pink makeup. The image of innocence. Jaehyun had to laugh.

“Says the man dressed up as Woody”

It was unfair, you admitted, how good he looked in that stupid outfit. His hair was gelled back, a few strands framing his handsome face strategically. The yellow shirt fitted him like a glove, its bright colour lighting him up as well. And those jeans, tight in all the right places, just melted over the muscles of his thighs. The ones that you’ve come undone on one too many times.

“So”, he lilts, giving you a once over before lowering both the volume and pitch of his voice, “want a ride?”

You scoff, sparing him an incredulous look, “on what horse, cowboy?”

He doesn’t reply, only points with his eyes to his crotch that is undeniably sporting a visible tent, and you gasp when you see the outline of his dick twitching under your stare.

“Jesus Christ, Jaehyun”, you mutter with a disgusted look on your face before picking up the almost forgotten beverage that the vending machine had barfed out for you. The boy mentioned, however, was unfazed.

“They don’t call me Woody for nothing”

Almost choking at the drink that was supposed to calm you down, you catch his eyes rolling at you through your third cough. Well, that ruins one of your favourite childhood movies. “Don’t pretend to be a prude. Now are we going to fuck before you get on stage of not?”

You can clearly remember the first time you met Jung Jaehyun alone. You always spotted him somewhere in the SM buildings, joking around with his future bandmates, barely ever without company. As a fellow vocal trainee, he introduced himself to you as Yoonoh, filling up the awkward silence while your vocal teacher prepared the music sheets for the both of you to rehearse.

You were thankful the two of you always got paired up together. Jaehyun was charming, easy to be around, funny. He was a model SM trainee with the otherworldly looks he possessed, almost impossible for anyone’s eyes not to follow him when he entered a room. Radiant porcelain skin, soft brown locks, and a dimpled smile that made your heart melt in seconds.

You can also clearly remember the first time you had the privilege of hearing him sing. Jaehyun had a beautiful baritone voice, one that contradicted his flower boy image but matched his manly personality perfectly. The four walls of the small practice room resonated with his sound, that was stable and smooth like honey. The lessons were challenging but Jaehyun made them bearable through spending time with him. Maybe it was your shared struggles, or how you were always tired and vulnerable when you saw him. Maybe it was those damned dimples, but your heart always beat faster when you were around him.

“Sometimes I get discouraged”, he confides in you in that same room, hours later, early into the morning now. The vocal lesson stretched on longer than expected, leaving you two sitting on the floor, sharing a cup of lemon-honey tea to soothe your vocal chords. You let your head rest to the leather couch behind you as you stare into his handsome features one by one. What time was it? Shouldn’t you be back at your dorms by now? It didn’t matter, this was one of those moments when time seems to stop and life seems unreal. When the only thing that you care about is the person standing next to you, and whatever it is they have to tell you.

 “I fear that I will never get to debut. There’s handsome guys all over the company. I just don’t know if my skills are enough.”  

You thought he was crazy for thinking that way, wanted to scream at him that he’s just perfect and more than enough for the company, or for anything in this world for that matter. But Jaehyun was reserved, the type to always mask his true feelings behind a smile and you were more than glad that he finally opened up to you, that he saw you as someone trustworthy. You didn’t want to dismiss his feelings, so you just pet his hair while you listened to his concerns.

 As you mindlessly gaze at the rainy weather outside, a couple of droplets following their own path down the froggy window remind you that time does run by. Even if every day seemed the same, following the same routine, going to the same classes over and over again.

Jaehyun had this sad look that contorted his pretty face and you hated it, reaching up to massage away the wrinkles between his eyebrows. You don’t know which godly creature made the hourglass of time freeze this moment, nor did you know why Jaehyun leaned forward to capture your lips into a kiss. Maybe it was his way of saying thank you for keeping your ears and heart open for him, for listening to him when he needed it most.

It felt so lovely while it lasted, two young people leaning on each other during an uncertainty that anchored them far away from their emotional shoreline. But life as a trainee isn’t a fairytale and falling in love can have serious ramifications. So you promise to each other that this will be a one time thing, and then you never speak of this night ever again.

Unsurprisingly enough, Jaehyun got to successfully debut, yet you didn’t have the same luck. The company had plans of focusing on their new boy group, thus postponing your debut for an uncertain amount of time. It was hard for you to decide to switch labels, to throw away the years of hope and dedication you had pinned on this company but the faith you placed on yourself was stronger.

It’s years later when you finally get to promote as a solo artist in a different company, and you are happy to say that the decision you made all those years ago was the right one. The exposure you got wasn’t the same as being in a Big 3 company, however leaving SM entertainment has its pros. Flexible schedule, less scrutiny, great creative freedom over your work. 

This wasn’t the first time you have come across your old trainee buddy. Jaehyun had multiple comebacks in a year, so it was only natural that his group’s and your promotions would sometimes overlap. You were only a rookie, and NCT turned out to become pretty popular, so of course the wins were always tied to their names.

The first time you walked past him in the hallways, dark makeup and professional styling making you both almost unrecognizable, you expected a wave, small talk, maybe some reminiscing of the old times. Instead, you got a cold stare or at best, an arrogant smirk coupled with a “Do better next time”. It was shocking to you how much Yoonoh, the boy with the shy smile and awkward social skills, would turn into such a stranger.

How you always ended up sneaking out with him to have a quickie in one of the ready rooms, was beyond you. He rushed you inside before checking both sides of the hallway, cautious to hide from any curious eyes. The coast was clear and Jaehyun doesn’t like to waste time, so he pins you against the door he just closed behind him, face dipped in your neck. You can feel his fingers dancing on the skin of your thighs, eager to explore what is hidden under your frilly skirt, and their delicacy in contrast to his feverish kisses sends a shiver down your spine.

One pretty whine from your lips, then two, three and you can feel Jaehyun smile deviously against your neck. The softness is too enticing for him to resist, so he nips at it skillfully, trying to get a reaction out of you. He recognizes that you have plenty of talent as a singer, yet the symphonies you sing out for him in those little sessions seem to be his favorite.

“Jaehyun, cut it out. I’m going on stage in like, 20 minutes”

“Turn me on then”

Wasn’t he the one that basically flashed you in the middle of the cafeteria for just existing? Isn’t it his hard on that digs against your lower stomach? The demand made you mad, and you wanted nothing more than to entice him with a nice blowjob, only to take a big, strong bite off that cock of his. But see, you had a full face of makeup on and your career is way more important than a fuckboy, so you’ll have to get creative.

Flipping him around so that he’s the one trapped between you and the door, you start to suck on his collarbones , then nibble at the tender flesh. He seems distracted enough by it so that you open the button of his jeans and fully remove his belt from their loops with no objections. Palming him over his boxers to keep him entranced, you manage to bring his wrists together, wrapping the leather around them, then lastly fastening them in place.

His eyes widen in shock when he realizes that he’s too late, wiggling his hands in a futile attempt to free himself. Your laugh is sadistic, making the hairs on his arms stand on edge and you gloat in the effect you have on him. 

Giving your palm a good lick, you form a ring with your fingers, wrapping them around the base of his member. He hisses and drops his head back, thudding loudly against the wall. His cock enlarges and reddens as you move your hand up and down, changing the pressure according to his reactions. Jaehyun isn’t one to express himself freely but there is not much he can do to stop the low moans leaving his lips. Not when you rub circles over his tip with the soft skin of your palm.

He looks so fucking good, all squirmy and desperate and trying to hold himself from saying ‘please’. You almost want to keep going, squeeze him more until he whines and begs to cum, and admire the white beads dripping from his slit and covering your hand. Almost.

You halt your movements with a last strong stroke, crossing your arms over your chest as you stare back at him. Jaehyun tentatively opens one eye to see why you have stopped, only to come across that bratty smile that he loves as much as he hates.

“You should have dressed up as a siren. Seducing people before they realize you are a man eating bitch”

“If you want someone to jerk you off you can go ask one of your little fangirls. I want to get fucked.”

“Let me go then. And you’ll wish you never did”

You scoff at his cockiness, nonchalantly freeing him from his constraints, and the way he immediately has a hold of your jaw reminds you of a predator eyeing its prey. His eyes have a crazy look in them, moving frantically over every part of your body like he can’t decide what to grab onto first. He decides on your hips, bending you over a table full of snacks and makeup tools and flyers of today’s schedule.

“You think it’s funny to tease me like that?”, he asks you with a peremptory voice that signifies you’d better shut up.

You hear shuffling behind you and assume it’s him slipping on a condom, so you make yourself more comfortable on the wooden surface. A hard slap on your ass jolts you alert.

“I asked you a fucking question”, Jaehyun presses brusquely and flips your skirt fully over your ass, pulling your panties down until they’re bunched up right over your knees.

“It’s fun”, you moan out, breathless both from the pleasure and the stinging feeling on your right cheek, “What are you gonna do about it?”

Was the room occupied by one of the artists that have already been on stage? Or will they barge in at any moment to find you bent over and pussy dripping for Jaehyun to finally dive inside you? He chuckled at the sight of you, eyes feasting off your naked body, your ass up just the way he likes it. Not so innocent anymore, huh?

He doesn’t reply to you, aligning himself against your slit and bottoming out in one go instead. Involuntarily, you let out a small screech, the sudden stretch catching you off guard.

“You better stay quiet, siren. Or maybe you would like it if people found us like this? Saw how good you take my cock whenever I ask”

You wanted to bite back at him, but the only sound you could make was a guttural moan. It was embarrassingly loud, and you fall forward to bite your fist and force yourself to shut up. It was effective, yet Jaehyun had other plans for you, pulling your pigtails towards him in a strong grip that has you against his chest in seconds.

“Nuh, uh, uh, siren”, he hums in your ear, his panting making his voice sound huskier and smokier than ever, “How about trying to stay quiet by using your willpower alone? That way it’s more- how did you call it? Fun.” 

He slows down his pace momentarily, as if he’s giving you time to answer him. But the moment you open your mouth to talk back at him, he thrusts particularly hard inside you, forcing a whimper out of your lips.

“Fuck you, Jaehyun”

“As you wish”

Jaehyun was conceited and cocky and a dick, but he was also a good fuck. He kept at it with what seemed like all the energy in the world, fucking you against that table until you came all over him, and your legs gave out. It ended how it always did, with him moaning how fucking sexy you look and how much he hates you, and you swallowing your pride as you swallow his cum. You’d tell each other to fuck off and never bother the other again, until you meet up at the next comeback, to do this shit all over again.

And that’s how things would stay if it wasn’t for that goddamn phone call from your manager.

“...so we thought what better way to promote your new song by recording a duet with NCT’s Jaehyun?”

No, no, no this can’t be happening. No way. Anyone but him.

“Are you sure this is the only way we can promote me? Can’t I just go to variety programs like every other idol out there?”

“y/n, duets by different group members are one of the most efficient methods of promoting there is! And with NCT’s latest song topping the charts this will be a great opportunity for you. Taemin and Sunmi did it. Suzy and Baekhyun, Chanyeol and Punch-“

“Alright, okay, I get it”

“Besides, since you used to be an SM trainee they specifically asked for you. The directors made some pretty big compliments on your work”

Isn’t it a little too late now? Not like they didn’t have the chance to debut you, right? That being said, there isn’t much to oppose to decline SM’s offer; your manager is right and you know it. Saying no to Lee Sooman and giving up a popularity push like that is basically career suicide. Nor could you let your manager know about your and Jaehyun’s little adventures, minutes before you have to go on stage.

“Just send me the schedule. I don’t have to record with him, right?”

“Oh no, they’ll record his part first and then they’ll send it to us. But there will be a music video of course”

Oh for fuck’s sake.

There was this little monster of worriedness that was screaming inside your head, refusing to shut up. This collaboration isn’t going to be easy, but you didn’t want to let Jaehyun’s pettiness get in the way of your career. Fumbling with your phone in your hands, you kept removing and reinserting its case compulsively, over and over again, until you mustered the courage to take matters into your own hands.You knew his number was buried somewhere in your contacts.

you [16:35]: hey it’s me, y/n

Jung Yoonoh [16:50]: y/n who??

you [16:55]: y/n y/l/n? the girl whose guts you were inside in last week? we have a song coming up 😒

Jung Yoonoh [16:57]: oh y/n right

Jung Yoonoh [16:58]: thought you’d have deleted my number

Well you sure have deleted mine, you murmur with your blood boiling, regretting reaching out to him in the first place. 

you [16:59]: i always hoard peoples contacts

you [17:00]: old habits die hard i guess

Jung Yoonoh [17:00]: like the habit of me being inside your guts?

You gasp out after reading his last message, hands awkwardly juggling your phone until you’ve forced yourself to calm down. After waiting for a while, until your face has reached its previous temperature, you feel focused again, and type out your original intentions for this conversation.

you [17:05]: this isn’t what i texted you about.

you [17:07]: we have this project coming up and while I know we aren’t exactly on the best terms, this comeback is very important for me

you [17:08]: and i don’t want to fuck it up

Jung Yoonoh [17:10]: kitty cat, relax. maybe this is a brand new word for you but i know what professionalism is

you [17:10]: don’t you ever and i mean ever call me that again

you [17:11]: glad to see we are on the same page

You didn’t expect a message back, nor did you get one. All you could do from now on, was pray that the promotions would go smoothly and Jaehyun wouldn’t do anything stupid that would jeopardize your collaboration.

------------------------------------------------------

And the day you dreaded finally came. The first day of filming for the music video. 

You had already finished recording the song, a bittersweet balad about two lovers who lost their way, only for their paths to cross again. When you listened to the demo for the first time, it only took three notes from Jaehyun’s pre-recorded verse to spread goosebumps on your skin. His voice was deeper and even more developed than you remember. Long forgotten memories, shoved deep inside your brain so as not to leave a bitter aftertaste in your mouth, came flooding up again. But things have changed since then.

The sky was crying rain and lightning, fitting to the storm inside your head. Normally you'd be excited to film a music video, bubbling with energy and unable to contain a smile. Today, all you could do was let your teeth abuse the cuticles of your left thumb, until little drops of blood ruined the fresh manicure you got for the shoot. 

Following your manager inside the studio, you take a quick glance at all the props the creative directors have prepared. They were very intricate, filled with all different types of flowers everywhere. Some of the fake rooms looked like classrooms, two others were decorated like teenage bedrooms. It was a lot more than you have anticipated.

“The song will be part of a drama OST, that’s why the budget is higher than usual”, your manager tells you as if he was reading your mind. 

He leads you to the changing room, where you try on different outfits your stylist has chosen for you, while simultaneously being briefed on the concept of the music video. It’s kinda cheesy and cute, with you and Jaehyun posing as high-school students falling in love. Certain scenes of the drama, whose plot matches the music video’s, will intercept in between.

You’re seated on the makeup chair, sunk in the uneasiness caused by your co-star. Jaehyun had arrived a few minutes after you, his bare face more handsome than you’ve ever looked in your most glamorous state and you can’t help but stare at him. He is all polite smiles and bows to the staff, and even gives you a formal greeting. 

You’re not sure why you just can’t bring yourself to stop your legs from shaking as the makeup artist patiently tries to apply a rosy blush on your cheekbones. It’s like you’re scared that everyone will see right through the both of you, somehow enter your brain and find out that you’re replaying your last encounter with Jaehyun in the music show’s waiting room in your head. As you try to read through his expression, to see if he’s nearly as nervous as you are, you defeatedly can’t decode what’s going on inside his head. Not like you ever could.

You glance at both you and Jaehyun through the mirror, admiring the youthful makeup. Blushy cheeks and innocent eyes of two teenagers in love, masking the raw lust between two nemesi. It couldn’t stray any further from the truth.

A staff member leads both you and Jaehyun (who is refusing to spare even one look your way) back to the main set. The director is passionately explaining what he wants to see from you in your first scene, but you can barely focus with Jaehyun’s eyes burning holes through your school girl outfit. You block him out and walk inside the ‘classroom’, spotting the cameras and sitting on your designated seat, while you wait for your signal to start.

Of course, you had acted before. Yes, you had expected for the director to ask you for some more intimate moments with your co-star. But when Jaehyun passed you a “love note” from the desk in front of you, looking all blushy and shy and with his dimples showing, you felt that the role of crushing schoolgirl became a little too easy for you to act out. 

And maybe, just maybe he was feeling the same way too. He looked pretty flustered when he saw you dancing across class, shifting restlessly in his seat when you bent forward to tie your shoelaces. Whether you did it on purpose or not, was a question your ego didn’t allow you to answer truthfully.

Most of the individual shots would be handled at a different shoot, so all you had to do was get over this one day with him. That’s what you repeated yourself over and over again. And you did pretty well, smiling charmingly at the camera, with the director praising you for your “innocent look”. You didn’t miss the scoff slipping from Jaehyun’s lips but you were good at ignoring it, focusing on getting through the different scenes in one-shot. 

You were currently leaning your body against the wall, playing with your hair while Jaehyun glances down at you, like a boy that is ready to confess to his first love. 

“y/n, I need you to give me something more shy, more bashful”, the director yells eagerly, but you can barely hear him, too focused on regulating your breathing. The look your co-star is giving you right now might seem loving and pure to the staff, but you know all too well the motives hidden behind his facade. It’s the calm before the storm, the silence he purposefully keeps to make you squirm, right before he whispers the most sinful propositions in your ears. 

Reading him like an open book, you stand still as he leans closer, just enough so that no one besides you get to hear his words.

“Come on y/n, can’t you act bashful? Or is it impossible for you to get embarrassed after getting fucked against the window of a TV station’s building?”

Clearing your throat, you’re suddenly hyper aware of every single sound and movement in the room. Suffocating, even in the light clothes you were wearing, and desperately trying to mute out his words that bring you back to the day he was repenting.

“When you were pressed up against that glass, moaning my name, all exposed for anyone that simply looked up to see, you weren’t too shy, were you?”

You raise your palm to wipe a bead of sweat that has collected on your temple, and breathe deeply through your nose, as if a good pump of oxygen would cool off the sudden heat between your legs. 

“Shut up Jaehyun”, you simply hiss through your front teeth, but he isn’t done yet.

“You know I can’t hold myself when I see you in skirts. So pretty. And you love to tease me in them too, I’ve noticed. Flashing me again and again until you get to suckle on my dick”

You were sure his voice was barely louder than a whisper, but the thought of anyone accidentally prying into your conversation had your whole body raising in temperature. The heat didn’t take long to reach your cheeks and you couldn’t remember the last time your legs felt like jelly, as they do now.

“Perfect y/n, that’s exactly what I’m looking for!”

You blinked back at Jaehyun a couple times, your mind trying to process that the director is cheering you on instead of scolding you to focus. The trembling hands, the fast-paced heartbeat, your big doe eyes. Though involuntarily, you had nailed the scene.

“You’re welcome”, Jaehyun mouths at you just as the staff announces a break. He scurries off to his dressing room without a word, as if he hadn’t just spewed his dirtiest of thoughts on set. It was almost as if he was daring you to follow him, but it’s not like he had left you a choice. You were fuming.

“Jaehyun”, you called out to him strictly but he didn’t acknowledge you, only walked further inside the small room with his name written neatly on the door. He was removing some of the heavier jewellery, rubbing the red lines they had left on his neck and wrist, momentarily catching your eyes on the mirror's reflection. They were misty, unreadable, and with how unpredictable you knew he could be, you decided to close the door behind you.

“Closing the door?”, he muses and in just a few long strides he has managed to trap you between his body and the wooden surface. It is reminiscent of your last meeting at the music show, and the memory of you tying him up doesn’t help with the organizing of your thoughts. “What are you planning on doing to me in here?”

You point one finger against his chest, not enough to create any real distance between you, but it comforts you nonetheless.

“What the fuck was that out there? What happened to professionalism?”

“Relax, kitty cat. I was just helping you act better”. His eyes stayed glued on your hips, once again making you all wound up and jumpy under his stare, “And it worked. You should be thanking me”

“I. Told. You.”, you started, tapping your finger on his sternum to emphasize each word, “Never call me that again. Today’s already hard as it is, why do you have to make it harder?”

He takes one more step towards you, his chest now touching yours and your hand that separated you lands involuntarily on his right peck. As if his presence wasn’t overwhelming enough, you feel a hardness pressing against your thigh, and for a moment you worry he can feel how wet you really are under your skirt. His voice is a low, a deep rumble.

“I don’t know. Why do you have to make everything so hard?”

“You are unbelievable”, you scowl at him and free yourself from his trap. You turn to the big mirror to avoid looking at him anymore, and you come to the embarrassing realization of how fucked out you look right now. You had to get out of there as soon as possible, before you do anything stupid and lose any trace of self control left in you. But not before you gave Jaehyun an earful.

“What I meant was that I am out there, being paid to be all lovey-dovey with you. This is not something easy for me you know. It’s basically prostitution.”

You catch Jaehyun’s eyes in his reflection, and for a fleeting moment they turn a colour that you hadn’t seen them in for a long time. Hurt? Disappointment? Whatever it was, it was gone in a second, replaced by that smile that made him both irresistibly smackable and fuckable at the same time.

“Did it cross your tiny brain that maybe someone could hear you? Staff leaks information all the time! If they found out we were fucking…”

“Were? Past tense?”

“Are. Will be. Whatever.” You sigh, defeated, hiding your eyes with your palms as you face him once again. “Like I said, this is important to me. So no more dirty talk on set. Okay?”

Jaehyun avoided your glance, from embarrassment or uninterest maybe. “Okay”

You continue to sit there silently, but your head is so occupied with a million thoughts that you don’t notice. How you will get through the rest of the shooting, whether your manager is looking for you or not, the coldness of the glass Jaehyun had pressed you against that day. The only thing that snapped you out of it, was him suddenly taking off his shirt.

“What are you doing?”, you ask panicking, but you can’t dismiss the pool of excitement in your belly.

“We have a wardrobe change after the break, remember? And since you refuse to leave my changing room..”

You clear your throat, trying your hardest to rip your eyes away from his abdomen, that you’ve so keenly marked with love bites before. His naked skin must have monopolized your attention way more than you realized, as you can’t remember when he slithered his way closer to you, towering over your height.

“Stare much?”, he almost growls, arousal dripping from his voice.

Every fiber of your being wanted to lurch forward, glide your fingers through his hair and start nibbling at those pretty lips of his. The sexual tension, amplified by the argument you just had, was filling the room like a thick liquid would fill a cup. One more drop, one more second of his staring and it would overflow. It felt so real, that you could feel that drop landing on your forehead. Then another one on your cheek, and that’s when you realized that what you felt was real.

“What the-?”, Jaehyun mumbles as he stares up at the ceiling, a big wet spot staining it and allowing the water drops to slowly wet his styled locks. As you start to put two and two together, someone knocks loudly on the door, making you both jump one feet away from the other.

“Get undressed”, a high-pitched male voice that you recognize as Jaehyun’s manager calls through the door, “the rain is ruining the set. It’s a wrap for today”

———————————————————————

A soft touch on your lower back, an even softer breath making your ears tingle. A tentative kiss on your neck that’s full of purpose and makes you shiver.

And then another touch, this time more south on your body. Fingertips grazing over your sensitive clit. Easily moving through your wetness and finally dipping inside of you. That baritone voice.

“This pussy is mine, isn’t it, kitty cat?”

You look up to meet the face of the familiar voice, only to meet Jaehyun’s baby brown eyes. The pleasure was enough to make you ignore the despised nickname, flowing intensely through your body. You let out a desperate moan, gripping his arms to keep your balance. His fingers are now dragging through your walls and you clench around them instinctively, confused but enamored by his touch. You are falling apart.

“Jaehyun? What are you doing?”

“I want to make love to you”

“Love? But you hate me”

He plants another kiss on the slope of your neck, his hands picking up in pace and making you feel like you’re floating on air.

“Love. Hate. Is there really any difference when I’m here, ready to please you? Willing to make you feel things you have never felt before?”

“You already do”, you admit, only seconds away from your orgasm. The bliss is so close you can almost taste it, but for now you choose to taste his lips. They are so soft and warm that you realize you haven’t kissed Jaehyun since that night at the practice room. How you miss him. Not the group visual, not the idol, not even Jaehyun. Yoonoh.

“Yoonoh”, you moan out against his lips as the pleasure overtakes you, a low buzz humming in your ears, “mmm yes, Yoonoh”

“Who the fuck is Yoonoh?”

You finally wake up, your manager shaking you awake being the first thing you see. The sun’s morning rays are peeking through your blinds, warming your skin in lines. Your phone’s ignored alarm clock is still buzzing on top of your nightstand.

“No one. I’m awake, thanks”

Fuck. That makes it what? The fourth night in a row you dreamt about him?

“Get, up. Quickly. We’re late”

You groaned at the banging of your head that was caused by you getting up so fast. It was early into the morning, as you had to get ready for the mv’s second shooting day. The heavy rainfall wouldn’t allow for the filming to continue for another week, yet aided your growing anxiety of having to encounter Yoon- Jaehyun again. 

You felt a little stupid, like a kid that goes to middle school for the first time, anxious but full of butterflies in your stomach in the thought of seeing him again. You weren’t sure who the anger, that came with the inability to control the fresh feelings bubbling from your dream, should be directed at. Your manager for booking you this job? Jaehyun for making it his goal to have you dripping wet on set? You, for letting it all affect you so much?

You decide on the former, giving your poor manager the cold shower for forcing you to deal with the problems you’ve caused yourself. Checking your phone, you realise that you are, indeed, late, and wonder how quick you’re going to have to make your morning shower.

“Is Jaehyun and his team there already?”, you ask your manager as nonchalantly as you could, feigning mildly interested in his answer.

“Oh, they didn’t tell you? The other team asked for the shootings to continue separately”. You felt your stomach drop all the way down to your condo’s basement. And the icing on the cake: “Jung Jaehyun’s request”

Maybe your manager wasn’t as clueless to your electricity, or maybe it was your sudden impulse to pluck every loose thread of the pyjama top you were wearing that made him sense the discomfort following what he’d just said. He plops next to you on your bed, boards creaking in the silent room and you feel his rough hands patting you on the back.

“I’m sure he had an overlap in schedules and needed a break, nothing to do with you”

But you knew better, and you knew your palms wouldn’t stop itching unless you picked up your fucking phone and sent him a message. 

you [06:30]: i heard you can’t make it to set today. everything ok?

You wish you never did. The radio silence from his number was way worse than any insult, any form of teasing he could give you on set. You even tried calling him, desperate for an answer, a closure even. Maybe he was busy. Maybe the shooting took longer than expected. Maybe he wasn’t avoiding you; one of his managers uploaded his latest story on his instagram, not him. Maybe at the end of the week he would get back to you.

------------------------------------------------------

Going to his dorm unannounced was not a good idea. Waiting for someone to open the door for you, you hope his members will recognise you from your trainee days, or those rare nights Jaehyun sneaked you in when you were both lonely and in need of a… well, whatever you two were.

You’re starting to worry that whoever saw you from the peephole thought you were a sasaeng and called security, when Mark opens the door. His eyes are wide open behind his glasses, clearly not expecting you and immediately yelling for his ‘Jaehyun hyung’.

Soon, the called male arrives at the apartment’s entrance, annoyed for being interrupted from whatever it was he was doing. “What is it, me and Jungwoo are watching the season fina-“

As if Mark suddenly turned invisible, Jaehyun walks right past him, grabbing you by the wrist and dragging you to his room without another word.

Jungwoo, engrossed with the aforementioned show’s season finale on his computer screen, tries to cover up his naked torso in panic when he notices you. 

“Get out.”, Jaehyun orders him, and the younger man knows that his tone is not one to be argued with. It triggers the cold sweat that makes your clothes stick closer to your skin and forces your heartbeat to quicken, pumping blood all over your body. The door closes, leaving you both alone with only the sound of Jungwoo’s laptop still playing in the background. A lighthearted scene that is too oxymoronic against the tension that is just palpable at this point. What the hell were you thinking coming here?

“What the hell were you thinking coming here?”, Jaehyun speaks your thoughts out loud, and you wince at how empty your head is with excuses.

“Are you ignoring me?”

“What?”, he asks dumbly, hoping you would avoid asking again.

“Was it that hard to text me back? Am I such a waste of your time?”

Jaehyun seems angry at your confrontation, his bad mood escalating with every word that is leaving your mouth. He still avoids to look at you, toying with some plushies and decorations next to his bedpost. You realize you never had time to really notice them, barely recognizing them. You always entered the room blindly, pressed up against Jaehyun’s body and with his lips all over your neck, then left as soon as the sex was over. His apathy was infuriating.

One by one, you start to remove all of your outerwear, dropping your clothes on the floor until you’re left in only your bra and jeans. Jaehyun stares at you incredulously, then at the pile of clothes on the floor, unable to make out the reasoning behind your impromptu stripping.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting naked. Seems to be the only time you can actually pay attention to me.”

You reach for the buttons of your jeans, only able to unzip it halfway before Jaehyun has you pinned against the wall behind you, his fingers cool and pressing lightly against your neck.

“I-I fucking hate you!”, he cries, punching the surface to release some of the steam, and lets go of the hold on your neck almost completely. How tempted he is, to just fuck your right against that wall, pour out his anger by pouring out his cum inside you, then ignore each other like you always do.

It’s the easy thing to do, keeping the toxic circle going. All barking and fucking and no real problem gets resolved in the end. He wouldn’t even call a cab for you, preferring to be hated for something he wasn’t than to be rejected for showing the real him. You would still have no idea about his feelings towards you, going around saying how awful he was while asking for a round two. But Jaehyun was tired.

“Can’t you tell that I am trying to distance myself from you?”, he sighs and it’s the first time you’ve ever heard him sound so emotionally exhausted.

“Why do you dislike me so much? We used to be friends and then one day you-“

“Friends? Just friends?”, he interrupts you with a chuckle and a sarcastic puff through his nose, and you shake your head.

“If you also think that what we had was more special than a common friendship then why act like you don’t know me?”

“You were the one who wanted to ‘forget about anything happening and never telling a soul about it’, remember?”

“I thought we came to a mutual agreement! I was just trying to save our careers and it worked Jaehyun, you got to debut and I-“

“And you just threw away everything we had like it was the easiest thing to do! Do you ever want to know how I feel, y/n? First you want nothing to do with me, left the company without even saying goodbye. Then I try to forget about you, become an asshole to keep you out of my life and suddenly you want to jump my bones. One day you just play blind to everything, asking for professionalism and now I’m the one ignoring you? What the fuck do you want? A fuck buddy? A professional? A friend?”

“I want you, Yoonoh. Fuck, I just want you”

You’re not sure which one of you initiates the kiss. His lips are as plump and kissed as hard as you recalled, a couple of tears staining your cheeks that you didn’t realize you were holding back. It felt so right, the way his head pushed and pulled away from yours, always inviting you back to him. One hand was situated over the dimples of your waist, the other lost between your hair, untangling it gently. You decided to lay yours over his heart, feeling its tempo and calming yourself down.

You kiss for what seems like an eternity, so drunk in bliss that you can’t remember how you made it through life without Jaehyun’s taste all over your tongue. When he pulls away from your lips, you almost whine, but his fingertips dabbing at the soft skin of your cheeks feel just as comforting.

“I don’t want us to be like this anymore”, you whisper to him and he nods encouragingly, holding you even closer. “I’m sorry for not reaching out to you all these years ago, I just thought ‘What would a brand new idol want to do with a failed trainee like me’-“

Jaehyun brings your fingers to his lips, kissing all your knuckles one by one and you think you’re gonna burst at the seams. “You weren’t a failure, you were the best thing to happen to me back then”. His voice is so sincere that you don’t dare question the veracity of what he’s saying and you let him continue. “When I saw you again I was so bitter, I decided to turn off my feelings. I think I get too comfortable in that role. I put it on for me, my members, my fans even”, he stops then, laughing sadly, “it’s how I finally got you”

It was your turn to open up his eyes to the truth, holding his face between your hands and admiring its beauty. 

“That’s not true. I kept staying because I knew what was hidden behind all that armor. I guess, the sex was the only way to get closer to you”

“Not because I’m good?”, he jokes, wiggling his eyebrows and you can feel his dimples forming under your fingers.

“Eh, you’re pretty good too”

He starts pecking your neck, his smile obvious in his kisses and you squeal when he lifts you to his bed. Bouncing on the hard mattress, you let him lay his body weight over yours as he gives you a million traces of his love. 

“So, I’m guessing this means we start over?”, he asks reluctantly as he emerges from your half naked body and you hold back from cooing at him.

“I thought you loved to hate me?”

“I think I hate it, but I love you”

[1kook]

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→ jeon jungkook x (f) reader

→ How was he, a virgin, supposed to casually take his best friend’s virginity when he was so terribly, irrevocably smitten with said best friend?  GENRE eventual smut, minor angst WARNINGS mentions of porn, mentions of sex, mentions of dicks, just jk having dumb thoughts tbh  OTHER volleyball player jk, student council pres oc, childhood friends to lovers, besties to lovers, realization of crushes, there is one (1) cheek kiss 😐 RATING m (18+) WC 1.3k

NOTES (!) i did a follow up!!! this is rlly easy bc its like. dumb. the storyline is p simple so its become therapeutic 😐 anywayyy lemme know what u think !!

[ masterlist ]

The first step to initiating sex is a kiss— right?

Jungkook doesn’t even know anymore. All the porns he’s seen start at weird points in the progression, the first kiss somewhere between when the clothing comes off and when the penis holder shoves their cock in. Did he kiss you now, or was he supposed to wait?

That is, can Jungkook even muster the balls to kiss you? 

He doesn’t know, and when he sits up in front of you, knees against yours, does he come to a new shocking realization: the two of you have never kissed. For as long as Jungkook has known you, there has never been a kiss shared between you two. Not a single experimental phase, surprise mistletoe, not even a dare. Jungkook and you have never kissed, so it only makes sense that the idea of kissing right now has him pausing before he can even try. 

“Uh,” he says, all his years of grammar classes running down the drain when you sit up perkily, a gleam of excitement in your eye. “Tomorrow,” Jungkook chokes out, hurriedly bouncing off your bed before you can even process his words. 

By the time you’ve gotten up, he’s standing at the door with his bag slung over one shoulder, foot shoved into his shoe. “You’re leaving?” you ask, and scare the living daylights out of Jungkook when you suddenly reach for the sleeve of his shirt, successfully halting his hasty departure with one gentle tug alone. 

Jungkook’s face feels like it’ll burn up at this rate, and his brain screams at him to stop being so weird. You were his best friend, for goodness sake, something like this was bound to happen at some point or another. Right? His heart thunders in his chest, and when your eyes soften for the briefest moment, warm and familiar again, Jungkook relaxes. 

“I have practice,” he says casually, tugging the strap of his bag further over his shoulder. Inside, his shoes are shuffled around with his water bottle and practice clothes. “We need more than an hour to do that kind of stuff,” he jokes, but Jungkook isn’t even sure if what he’s saying is true. When that girl had jacked him off at that party—you know, the party—he can’t remember it lasting more than fifteen minutes. To be fair, it had been the first time someone had ever touched him, so maybe it was just because of his inexperience. 

And that brings him back to the same dilemma: how on earth is he supposed to rock your world when he’s never even had sex before?

Before Jungkook can dissolve into a self-induced puddle of panic, you’re letting him go. “Okay,” you say, always so sweet and understanding. You had to be if you were the president of the whatever-council (he’s pretty sure it’s the student council). It should be Jungkook who is this composed, not you. It should be Jungkook who leans forward, presses his lips against your cheek— not you! 

But as it stands, it is you who leans forward, soft lips pressed flush against his cheek, only an inch away from his lips. Your proximity has the overwhelming scent of, well, you fanning over him; fabric softener, lotion, perfume, all of it. “Oh,” Jungkook says, sounding like a total dweeb. The departure of your lips from his skin produces a soft smooching sound, straight from the movies, and Jungkook’s heart lodges itself into his throat when you meet his gaze with a sweet smile. 

And then the door is falling shut and Jungkook is bolting down the hallway, through the campus, and into the gym. He looks and feels insane, the emptiness of the gymnasium a blatant reminder that he was in fact a little too early. Serves him right for chickening out. But a second longer in your presence and he’s almost certain he would have died from heart complications. 

It’s only when he stares out over the gymnasium floor, devoid of any human life, that the gravity of his actions truly hit him. And they hit him hard. Like a city bus skidding across an icy road towards an intersection, Jungkook is suddenly hit full force with the stark realization that he has just prepositioned his friend of nearly fifteen years for sex. While being a virgin. 

“God,” he groans, throwing his bag against the nearest wall. It hits it with a dull thud, sliding down to the floor sadly. Jungkook follows. 

It would be nice to have some common sense every once in a while, to actually use the brain lodged up in his head. Why on earth had he thought offering himself up for sex to you, of all people, would be something easy? Sure, Jungkook as a virgin had some expectations of what sex would be like; deep down inside, he’s always known it won’t be exactly like in porn, there would be some disappointing things and some absolutely amazing things. But those were his own expectations to bear, the end results something that personally wouldn’t weigh down on him too much. 

But now… now Jungkook will have to come face to face with your expectations, that of which he absolutely can’t let down. What if you think his dick is small? What if cums too soon? What if you can’t get turned on by him? What if, at the end of it all, you don’t want to be Jungkook’s friend anymore?

The last thought has him sullenly sinking down further against the wall, chin pressed to his chest, as he mulls over any potential options. It would be weird (at least in Jungkook’s mind) to call it off now, especially after seeing how excited you’d gotten. As your best friend, Jungkook lived by an unspoken, strict code of conduct, that of which dictated that promises between best friends were not meant to be broken. It was the highest offense. 

But how was Jungkook supposed to rock your virgin world if he was a virgin? 

Faintly, he can still feel your puckered lips pressed against his cheek, and he mindlessly raises a hand up to brush his fingers against the skin. It makes him blush, remembering that sweet gaze you’d looked at him with. It’s the same one you used to give him when you were younger, the slightly proud, really content gaze whenever he did his homework before coming over, when he won a game against your rival middle school, when he first walked into a Victoria’s Secret with you when you were both sixteen. “You’re doing amazing, Koo,” you always teased and giggled, the sound gradually mellowing out over the years. 

Just a couple weeks ago he remembers hearing the sound from the bottom of a ladder, dragged into decorating the student center with you for the new school year straight out of practice. He had been tired, so absolutely drained from the drills that day, but it was impossible to say no when you had caught him across the student center, eyes lighting up at the mere sight of Jungkook’s sweaty form. 

“I’m running for student president this year,” you had told him (so it was the student council), the tall windows that lined the building’s walls allowing a ray of sunlight to settle down over you. It had made Jungkook halt for a second, heartbeat skipping one dangerous beat when you descended down, placed a hand on his shoulder the closer you got. “Vote for me, please?” 

“Yeah,” he had breathed, felt like the entire world was too small to fit the growing feeling in his chest. 

And it’s with that memory that Jungkook reaches his third and final realization of the afternoon, an accumulation of all the prior ones: how was he, a virgin, supposed to casually take his best friend’s virginity when he was so terribly, irrevocably smitten with said best friend? 

“Oh… fuck,” he groans, slumping down until he’s practically sprawled over the floor, startling Namjoon and Jimin as they enter the gymnasium. Jimin scolds him for scaring them, but Jungkook is so deep in his wallowing that he barely hears. 

He was in trouble.

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[sukirichi]

earned it [07]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

cw. explicit smut, pool sex, slight angst, i miss naoya :(, mafia business, mentions of blood, lots of drama, mentions of death and murder

note. IDEK ANYMORE. lmao anyways do you guys want faster updates or do you guys want to wait? i can finish the series next week and then we can move on to white lies 😈

series masterlist

The three of you were seated back at your tables, where the whole dancing fiasco had thankfully ended. Satoru noticed nothing of your behavior – either he was really clueless, or you were a damn good actor – the guy was much too invested with the files Nanami was currently showing.

For a moment, you let yourself loosen as you took a deep breath. The account was much more important than whatever Nanami was scheming.

“I think I may have found where the real money is, or treasure, we should say, since none of us can really figure out what the Zen’ins might be hiding. And from the looks of it, considering Naoya had no idea about what his family kept prior to his death, this is something only his elders wanted to know about,” Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose, sliding a photo of an unsuspecting white manor that you hadn’t seen in a long time. “And it’s been right under our nose the whole time.”

“That’s one of our islands,” you replied with a furrowed brow, “Are you saying you traced the source back there? But that’s impossible, we haven’t used that island for years and even Naoya told me he was going to sell it because it was of no use to us. It’s not on commercial waters and there’s no local people around either. That island is in the middle of nowhere.”

“This is exactly why it’s the best place to hide things – because no one would ever suspect this seemingly harmless middle of nowhere could contain their assets.”

Satoru, who’d kept silent the whole time, inched closer to you. His cologne wafting off to you eased you for a moment – purely because it was familiar – and even though you despised saying it, you were thankful he was here. Currently, the blond man posed a bigger threat, the difference being that Nanami actually had leverage against you while you had more control over Satoru.

You sighed. If Naoya was here, things would’ve been so much better. He never lost his composure in figuring things out on his own. But now that he was gone, now that he’d never be coming back, you had be responsible for his sake, but mostly for yours.

“Take a look at this. The nearest land is a small, uncharted city from Brazil’s outskirts. I’ve been illegally transporting weaponry and firearms somewhere near there since our family started the business – it’s the easiest place to sneak in things without getting caught. All you need to do is pay a few fishermen and they’ll easily transport our load from one place to another, no questions asked,” Satoru announced, seemingly deep in thought as he rubbed his chin. “It would make sense if the Zen’in clan elders found this place useful too. It’s basically a hot site for criminals.”

“But we don’t operate this way. The Zen’in elders are too prideful to handle transactions like this. They would’ve chosen a more…discreet yet formal way of handling things.”

“How does an underwater passage sound?” Nanami pushed the other photo aside to reveal a blurry snap of what seemed like a tunnel under the sea. On the surface, it looked just like an abandoned rig, but it stretched too long, the exterior already covered in mold and seaweed. “About 80 years ago, the Zen’in Clan leader at that time was often heavily targeted by their enemies in business that they preferred to travel under the sea. If my theory is correct, right under that island would be another base of some sort that allows the clan leaders move from one country to another while remaining undetected.”

“So that’s how they easily sent their own shit overseas…”

“It would be a very sound conclusion to assume so,” Nanami crossed his arms at Satoru’s musings, “However, that’s all I know. All I can tell you is where I last got the signal for the source – which is about seven years ago, and a few months right after Toji Zen’in was disowned by his family when Naobito took over. It would also be near around the time he met his wife and had his child, which would increase the possibilities that he may have stored something in this island for his son’s future. Again, it could be money, gold – we don’t really know,” he nodded your way, a sense of finality behind those blue eyes that had now looked so menacing when once it brought you comfort – reassurance. “How you get there is all up to you.”

Something didn’t feel right.

“If the elders really wanted to hide this place, they wouldn’t have passed the rights of the island into my inheritance when Naoya died. They surely wouldn’t have wanted me to find out about this.”

“I could think of two things,” Satoru proposed, “It’s either they trust your potential enough as the clan leader to replace Naoya, or they didn’t think you’d care anyway.”

You let his words sink in. The clan elders have never bothered much with you. They were too prideful about “saving face” and “keeping up images” that they couldn’t even let a word of insult slip past their lips under the belief they were above that. But you weren’t stupid; they had never approved of your marriage to Naoya. An outsider like you, suddenly becoming a part of their family when they could’ve had your husband marry a family friend?

They may have kept silent about their dislike to you, but one way or another, they were going to take action for it.

Knowing the Zen’ins, being a Zen’in, you knew there was one thing they hated the most: not being in control.

“Neither,” you finally concluded while mumbling down at your lap. The theory was hazy, incomplete, based only on mere emotions but slowly, you were coming together to piece it. You felt Satoru turn your way, his large hand caressing your knee as if coaxing the words out of you. “It’s neither. Naoya’s elders…they never liked me. It’s been made pretty clear to me that I’m dispensable without my husband, and I will never be a Zen’in in their eyes. I wouldn’t be surprised if they asked me to give up all my inheritance from Naoya because I’m not related to them by blood.”

The silence in the table stretched.

No matter how grandiose the hotel restaurant may be, you felt suffocated in that seat. How didn’t you realize it sooner? You were in a land that stretched past your territory, with both men accompanying you people you couldn’t wholeheartedly trust, while your husband rotted away back at home – probably covered in dust and not even given a proper burial like he deserved.

There was only one way out of this, to put an end to everything. It would prove to be a daunting task, but you didn’t have a choice. No, in fact, this was your only choice if you wanted to survive.

Satoru’s voice softened upon seeing the grimness of how you turned mum. “I’ll follow you wherever you go. I promise to help you in finding out whatever is in there,” he met your eyes; yours filled with contempt, with fear, with desperation, and his filled with regret. “It’s the least I could do…after everything I’ve done to you.”

You took a deep breath.

You couldn’t lie to yourself. There was no way you could trust him with his empty promises. He’d shown enough times that he wasn’t a man of his word, and you’d be a fool to fall for it again. However, Nanami’s glance was curious and suspecting, hiding his true colors with an innocent gesture of sipping his wine. He may seem unbothered and only here to ‘help’, but this man was cunning, possibly more so than Naoya could ever be, and one wrong move would be similar to stepping on a land mine.

Satoru received no response from you, and soon the three of you were standing outside the hotel’s lobby to escort Nanami back where he came from. The dinner was tense, so much so that you’d unknowingly been clutching Satoru’s bicep the whole time.

He tapped your shoulder, bringing you back to life as he gestured to his phone. “Sorry, it’s Geto.”

“Oh,” you muttered and stepped away from him, feeling your heart sink in your chest as you watched him retreat behind the glass doors. Beside you, Nanami snickered.

“Made up your mind, agent?” he taunted, “This is your final chance to prove yourself. Gather enough intel for us to intrude whatever that mighty clan is hiding underneath that island, surrender Gojo to us, and we’ll give you everything as promised.”

You faced him with fiery eyes, prepared for whatever he’d throw your way when he showed you that cursed red coin again. Realizing its power, the true meaning it held, you immediately shut your lips. It must’ve satisfied to know he was the one in charge here, and how could he not be when your life was literally at the palm of his hands, your days growing more numbered if you didn’t follow everything he asked for?

If you had just…if you had just done everything the Organization had asked you for, you wouldn’t have been here. You wouldn’t have felt this torn.

Nanami flipped the coin before tucking it into his pocket, sending one last salute your way. He hailed a cab and disappeared afterwards, leaving you alone to ponder over the consequences of your actions, your emotions. For the first time in his life, Naoya had lied to you.

He wasn’t correct when he said you were strong.

Because after all this time, you still held onto something that you should’ve let go of a long time ago, and you had nothing but your weak, sensitive, hopeless heart to blame for. Said hurdle appeared not long afterwards, his touch warm on your shoulder as he gazed at the empty spot beside you.

“Oh, Nanami left,” he noted, turning your shoulders to him until you were completely exposed. There was no more hiding from him, or more like you didn’t have enough energy to. You felt dull, tiredness lining your eyes and lips pressed into a flat line. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

Ten days. That was how much you’ve wasted your time here in Milan, and you weren’t even remotely close to figuring things out. Your resources were much more limited the farther you were from the Zen’in Estate, and your lawyer was a family one, meaning they held more loyalty to the actual Zen’ins instead of law-affiliated people like you were.

Simply put, you were all alone to solve this by yourself.

Satoru promised to help, but he kept disappearing in the morning along with Geto. You never asked where they went or what they did; it simply didn’t matter anymore.

You would only spend hours locked in your room as you researched everything you could on your private island near Brazil. Just like Satoru said, it seemed like the perfect place to hide things for the spot seemed remote enough to offer privacy for the family’s getaway. You could somewhat recall Naoya proposing once to take you there for your honeymoon, but business got in the way, and it wasn’t like you truly trusted him then to spend such an intimate with him that you said no.

Sighing, you put all the papers away. Not even a single clue led you to what could be possibly be there, but there was an underwater passage. The fact the Zen’ins was capable of building that made you wonder just what the extent of their powers and influence stretched to, and you contemplated for a bit if you could hold that same ability now that you had his name.

Whatever was there, you would look for it.

Your mission was clear – the success of it would determine the fate of your life. Find out what they’re hiding, surrender Satoru Gojo to the Organization, and then everything would be over.

It sounded simple, yet your heart knew it wasn’t. Naoya died with the confidence of his trust over you, the trust you worked so hard to earn. But wasn’t that point? You needed him to trust you for you to be able to pull this mission off, but things happened, emotions and conscience got in the way, and you banged your knuckles on the table until your ring throbbed on your finger.

You just wanted it all to end. You never meant to hurt Naoya, never meant to betray anyone, but it fucking pissed you off that Naoya wasn’t the real problem. He wasn’t the one holding you back.

With not much thought to your next actions, you slipped past the guards and into the pool that had long been closed since 10PM. Being at your room’s tub reminded you of memories you’d rather forget, and you slowly undid your robe and stepped out of your underwear before dipping in the cold, freezing water.

It felt good. It may have been temporary, but the numbing bite of the water helped you feel more placated. Even for a little while, it was nice to not worry about anything. There were no titles, no mafia drama, no anything, just you and the water that you would’ve easily fooled yourself to be simply enjoying your little trip in Milan until –

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere. You had me worried sick,” You sighed. Of course. Opening your eyes, you raised a brow as Satoru towered over you, a standard hotel towel in his arms. He’d change out of his suit and into cotton shorts and a shirt this time around, possibly on his way to sleep when he realized the room was empty. With no energy to deal with him, you swam away from the man, earning a groan in response. “What the hell is your problem? You’ve been acting weird ever since Nanami came. Listen, if this is about that island, you don’t have to worry too much about anything. I have enough people and resources to help you in every step of the way.”

You ignored him. After everything that happened, what was there to talk about anymore? Even if you told him everything, he might not understand.

So you swam in the middle of the pool, thankful that it was dark enough from the maintenance shutting the lights off that Satoru struggled to find you. However, you’d underestimated him because soon you heard the splashing of the water, and you were harshly tugged by the wrist before Satoru cornered you at the edge of the pool.

He was breathing hard; both of you were, and tried to push past his chest, only to be met with a solid plane of muscle that wouldn’t budge. You sighed and turned away from him, covering your exposed chest with your arms.

“Whatever Naoya is looking for…you’ll find it, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I’m serious,” the scorn in his tone had been so biting you turned back to him, about to hit him with something, scold him for something, but your words died down in your throat before you even had the chance to.

Satoru hadn’t been demanding. His face, illuminated by the moonlight, made his azure eyes twinkle like stardust exploding. Once in your life, you found so much comfort into staring at such beauty, but that was when everything was still a perfect lie. Funny how the truth ruined everything for its darkness, and you could only look back at him weakly, throat running dry from all the emotions that threatened to pour out of you.

Regret and desperation was written all over his face.

“Please,” he rested his forehead on yours, eyes closed as he mumbled, “You’re not alone in this. I don’t want to ask for much because I know I don’t deserve it, but please at least understand you don’t have to solve everything on your own. You’re not…you’re not alone. I’m here now.”

“When you left me,” your voice cracked, “It’s because you thought I wouldn’t love you anymore if I found out your true nature,” Satoru opened his eyes, anxiety swimming in those eyes that had once been so sweet. Perhaps he still held that sweetness now, albeit it was less tender and more cautious as he waited for you to continue. “If I told you about every sin I’ve committed, the name of each person I killed and everything I’ve done, would you stay with me? Or would you leave me again, only this time it’s because you think I’m no longer someone you could love?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t expect you to,” was all you said before you felt a tear prick the back of your eyes. You didn’t want him to see, god, you wanted to disappear in that moment you couldn’t think of anything else. Crashing your lips to his, you brought him down by the back of his neck to hide the tears freely falling from your face.

He froze for a split second before he eagerly pushed back, clenching the pool edges with his hands so hard his knuckles turned white. You were panting, moaning in his mouth as he pressed you harder against the edge, skin to skin, breath to breath, soul to soul.

Threading your hands to his hair, you grinded down on his shorts where he was already beginning to grow hard. Satoru groaned inside your mouth from your teasing but made no move to stop to – after all, why would he want to stop? It had been years, seven fucking years, and even you wouldn’t want to stop. It was wrong, it was dirty, it was immoral – but you needed this. You needed this more than ever.

Satoru’s hands tickled your waist as he squeezed them harsher than he intended, his calloused fingers travelling until he was kneading your breasts. You pulled away from him, head thrown back to rest on the edge.

And it was romantic.

The moon had never been so big, sprinkles of star shining in the vast darkness, the scene just perfect for two lovers in a getaway from the harshness of life. You knew it wasn’t real and the spell would break sooner than later, but did it matter? He rolled your beaded nipples into his fingers before he ducked down, lips suctioned to suck heavy bruises on the sensitive patch of skin on your neck that had you twitching in his hold.

Along with your moans, you cried harder. From heartbreak, from regret, from guilt; there was no turning back from this.

“Satoru, please, please, please. Make me feel better, make me feel good, I just want to forget everything.”

He nodded eagerly against your neck, letting your eager hands help him push his shorts down before his cock sprang free. His length grazed your lower abdomen for a moment, though he didn’t waste any time in entering your hole. You gritted your teeth at the intrusion, nails dug so hard in his shoulders that he bled.

The both of you had your foreheads connected, noses brushing and breaths mixing as you moaned and he sighed, eyes shut tight from finally being engulfed in your warmth.

“Right there, ‘Toru, oh fuck.”

“F-fuck,” he hitched one of your legs to wrap around his waist, “You’re still so tight after all this time,” Satoru praised, molding his lips with yours once again. He picked up his pace and watched as you desperately clung from one surface to another – his shoulders, his hair, the edge of the pool, flailing your arms each time his deep thrusts knocked the wind out of you – breasts bouncing as he bounced you on his cock.

“You look so fucking beautiful – my sweet, sweet angel. I missed you, missed you so fucking much.”

You didn’t say anything. No words were needed to be exchanged; actions spoke louder than words. At least right now, you could promise you wouldn’t lie.

Pulling him down for another kiss, you bit down on his bottom lip to muffle your moans, too speechless at each movement of his dick grazing past your walls. Fuck, he still felt so good, still knew your body way too well and your pussy hugged him so tight like you didn’t ever want to let go.

But you knew you had to, even as he came inside you and brought you back to your room, uncaring of the dripping mess you’ve both made before he locked the door.

You forgot how many hours you spent underneath him writhing in his bed. He took you each way he wanted – knees folded beside your head, on your side where he whispered all the filthy things he’d been wanting to do to you while he took you from behind, or your head squished on the pillow as he repeatedly smacked your ass, pulling your ass cheeks apart to praise you on how you took him so well. Satoru didn’t stop; you knew what you were getting into the moment you pulled him into you, that his sex drive was insane and he’d take long to tire himself out.

By the time the first shy fingertips of the sunlight extending across the horizon arrived, you were emptily staring at the window, Satoru fast asleep beside you.

It was time.

Silently, you pulled his arm away from you and quickly got dressed. He seemed to still be deep in slumber, and you carried the only bag previously packed with everything you might need. You were on the process of wearing your stilettos when he stirred awake, sleepily eyeing you from the bed you both devoted yourselves to in pleasuring one another.

“Where are you going?”

“Away,” you answered, tight-lipped. “From you.”

“Why?”

“Because…I lied,” you inhaled sharply, gloved hands frozen on the golden knobs.

Just open it, you screamed at yourself, walk away before it’s too late.

But you couldn’t move, pathetic that even after everything Naoya had worked so hard for, you still remained a slave to your past.

“No matter how much I hate everything you’ve done to me, I can’t bring myself to forget I once loved you. Maybe I still do – I don’t know. But what I do know is that I’m not as strong as I thought I was,” you cried, losing grip on the bag before it fell. You watched emptily as all the contents poured out – your money, your clothes, your phone, your ring – it all served as a reminder of who you were, of who you’d forgotten to be, of who you were supposed to be.

Your shoulders slumped in defeat.

“I don’t have enough strength to kill you.”

“Hey, angel,” he cooed, reaching you in three long strides before he caged you in his arms. Satoru was so warm, so strong, and the safety he provided you with only made you cry harder. You wanted to hate him, wanted to keep lying yourself since you’d been doing a great job at doing that for the past seven years, but it wasn’t that easy. Deep down…you still harbored the most miniscule affection, and that enough was capable of destroying you.

“What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” you whispered brokenly as you banged a weak fist to his chest, “Everything is wrong.”

Finavice Pharmaceuticals didn’t disappoint.

You were beyond impressed the moment you stepped through the door, a horde of eager chemists guiding you through the upper floors. Finavice was one of the biggest – if not the biggest – companies that were known for harboring the rarest or hard to get elements that not even you and Naoya could get your hands on.

Not by yourselves, anyway, so you took it upon yourself to strike a sponsorship to their research program in developing a cure to cancer under the guise of being an advocate to the improvement of the medical field.

Truthfully, you just wanted to please Naoya, show him you were useful and that he didn’t need to kill you. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and there you were, your prettiest smile plastered on as you scanned the towering buildings with unmasked interest.

“Here is the laboratory for the Finavice Pharmaceuticals where we test…”

“Mrs. Zen’in?”

The entire team stopped as a tall man, cloaked in a beige suit instead of a lab coat appearhed out of nowhere. Judging by how everyone had ducked their heads down and turned silent, you could only guess he must be the boss. Flashing your most charming smile, you hitched your bag higher up your arm. “Yes?”

“May I have a word with you?”

You fought the urge to sigh. His question was spoken much more of a statement that you weren’t really given a room to decline, and the young chemists gazed at you curiously under their lashes.

Not wanting to create a commotion that would lead into unwanted attention, you nodded, following the man through a set of double doors, guarded by two heavily armed men from the outside.

The man, who was Kento Nanami, the founder of Finavice himself leaned back into his seat as he made himself comfortable. “So you signed a contract with us two weeks ago to partner on our latest medicine, am I right? I’ve read over your proposals and I must say, they are rather interesting and innovative. I didn’t expect that a businessman’s wife would be a chemist who is interested in expanding to the pharmaceuticals as well. The Zen’ins has never been much invested in that.”

Gladly accepting the tea he’d slid your way, you made sure to clink the teaspoon against the porcelain as you played along. “People change, Mr. Kento. My husband and I’s goals are rather different from their former, traditional ones. Surely, steel exchange couldn’t support us for the rest of our lives.”

“I can’t say no to that. Kudos to you and your husband for your rather…ambitious shared goals then.”

Your hand froze on the utensil, and you narrowed your eyes at him in warning. “Are you implying we should not have trusted you with this, Mr. Kento?”

“No, I am merely letting you know that your act won’t fool me,” he chuckled, leaning forwards to rest his chin on his clasped knuckles, his blue eyes growing dark and serious. “I know what you and your husband’s family does. The Organization knows a lot more about your actions than you think you know we do. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re only here because we’re the only company who has access to an element you need for your drug, isn’t that the case, Mrs. Zen’in?”

Well…this was certainly unexpected. You’ve been effortlessly deceiving countless businessmen, government leaders and officials even, that this took you by your surprise. Two could play at this game.

Even if he saw through you long ago, it wouldn’t take much to grab his letter opener that was right beside you and puncture it through a jugular vein. If his guards came, you could easily take them down too. Today was one of those few moments you were thankful for Naoya’s hellish training.

But you didn’t want him to feel satisfied, so you leaned back into your seat and crossed your leg over the other.

“If you knew this whole time, why didn’t you kill me already? A lot of people wouldn’t miss the chance to do so.”

Nanami chuckled. “It’s because like you, I’m not just a pioneer. I, too, have my goals and loyalty laid out for someone else. Most specifically, the Organization, an international collaborative effort of stopping and reducing mafia movement for the safety of our people. Obviously, I’ve been assigned in the Yakuza Division, and it’s no coincidence I read through your file. You are, after all, one of our precious targets.”

You stared at him boredly. Why couldn’t he just get straight to the point?

“Is this a threat? I’m not sure it’s working.”

“Oh, no, I’m not threatening you,” he snatched your tea and took a long sip from it, and it was the first time you learned of his habit of concealing his curious gaze through drinking; a perfect act to seem inconspicuous.

“I am offering you a path to redemption. You may fool everyone, but I know an unhappy woman when I see one, Mrs. Zen’in, and I can tell you find no pleasure in the life you live – running errands for your criminal husband, constantly fearing for your life, wishing you’d just been a regular person like everyone else…” At the lack of response, he took it a gesture for him to continue, and he set the cup down, pushing his glasses right back up his nose. “The Organization has labeled you a target, but I think you’re more of a victim caught in a series of unfortunate events. I merely wish to save you from it.”

You guffawed in laughter at his last statement.

“You men really are ridiculous!” you slapped your palm on his table, losing every bit of that elegant composure to be perfected by a Zen’in wife. “Always preaching about saving me and protecting me – what actually are you pathetic losers even capable of?”

Much to your dismay, Nanami didn’t seem the least bit affected by your mockery.

“Please, don’t group me in with your husband and your former lover. Unlike them, I harbor no interest in you as a woman, I only want to fulfill my duty as an Agent and save you not because you’re a damsel in distress, but rather because…I could kill two birds with one stone,” his eyes shone in mischief, and you swallowed in discomfort as he gazed you up and down.

You’ve had enough experience with being seen as a meal, but this was different. Nanami was viewing you like you were a secret weapon he intended on using as much as he could to achieve his goals.

“You are a very convenient woman, Mrs. Zen’in. Similar to how your husband adores your abilities, I would like to take advantage of your connections. The only difference between me and them is that I can actually give you something money can’t even buy.”

“Such as?”

“A second chance at a normal life.”

“What makes you think I’ll accept your offer? I’m the wife of a mafia leader – my loyalty resides in him.”

“Only because you fear for your life,” he flashed you a red coin, crescents of a Latin quote scripted inside. Mori quam foedari – death before dishonor.

“Join the Organization, Y/N. With your connections, we could easily take down these families and protect the country. Hand over Satoru Gojo and Naoya Zen’in to us, and I promise the Organization will do everything in its power to give you the life you always wanted. A safe, normal one. No more worrying about being killed as you ride your car, no more beating yourself up as you make drugs to promise your usefulness to your husband and no more pretending you are someone who you’re not,” he flipped the coin between his fingers, and tantalized, you couldn’t keep your eyes off it. “Don’t you want that? You’d be able to live freely if you cooperate with us.”

You could hear the gears in your head turning. Part of you would’ve assumed this was a trap had you not known better, but Naoya taught you that if something was a trap, it would sound too easy, too good.

None of this was easy. It would require facing a demon from your past and handling things differently than what Naoya had planned, but that wasn’t the worst.

It was the fact that if you accepted, you’d have to come home tonight and lie in the face of your husband who could easily read through you. He smelled lies and treachery before you could realize you were even thinking of doing something, and knowing Naoya, he wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet between your eyes the instant he felt something was off.

But his offer… it was a risk you had to take. You wouldn’t ever get an opportunity like this again.

“Do you promise…that I’ll really go back to normal after this? That I won’t be involved in this mess anymore?”

“I can only promise that if you also promise to do your part. You see, I strongly believe you are the one that can put an end to this all. All you have to do is join us, and soon it’ll feel like this nightmare never happened at all. You’ll be free from Naoya Zen’in and Gojo Satoru before you realize it.”

You stared at his coin harder. Death before dishonor. This Organization he was a part of obviously didn’t fuck around, and it seemed scarier because they had their eyes on you for a while now. What were the odds they offered a deal instead of outright killing you, even going as far as to provide you a second chance at life, one that you genuinely wanted to enjoy? It would be a shame to say no, and even if the chances of this turning out well were low, you would damn well take it. A small chance was better than nothing.

“What do I have to do?”

Nanami grinned and pocketed his coin. “A very wise decision, Mrs. Zen’in,” he congratulated, “Please, meet me at my office tomorrow, eight on the dot. Oh, and remember, the Organization will now be watching you wherever you go. You’re one of us now.”

The next day, Nanami had cut your palm.

He spilled your blood into an empty metal casing with engraved letters, mori quam foedari, the phrase both comforting and ominous. Soon, you came home with your blood solidified into a coin to prove your membership and loyalty, that they quite owned you in more ways than one. Your blood meant your loyalty, and the coin felt heavy in your pocket with the implication it was also your blood they wouldn’t hesitate to spill should you betray them.

Mori quam foedari.

Death before dishonor.

Your life over Naoya’s, your future over Gojo’s.

The next few days had been tense. After telling Satoru everything down from the smallest detail, things had shifted between you. Quite frankly, you expected that maybe he’d kill you right then and there after explicitly stating that just because you couldn’t kill him, didn’t mean you wouldn’t turn him in.

“Angel,” he begged, “Will you never really give me the chance to do everything right this time around?”

However, you were too firm on your plans. You originally wanted to leave and go to the island yourself; it was easier to leave Satoru open and vulnerable for the Organization to attack him in your absence. He loved you, that was much clear, and if he looked for you, he’d make himself vulnerable to the Organization, but recent plans had to be altered now that he wasn’t willing to let go of you. Though no matter what he said, you valued your life and future more than you could ever love him.

It was an act of kindness to yourself.

“I don’t want this life anymore, Satoru. Either way, I don’t have a choice, not when I could die literally anytime before I could even say goodbye.”

It had been hours since ‘that’ talk and now you were on a plane back to Tokyo. You had to pull out some archives from Naoya’s files to know more about the island before you could visit it, and it was important for Satoru to know details such as security measures over there.

You’d long fallen asleep from exhaustion, bundled up in a fleece blanket while Geto glared at you.

“Are you sure about this, Sir? I think we should just keep her with us even if she doesn’t want to. The Gojo clan is powerful enough that no one would dare cross us. Not even this Organization she speaks of has ever done anything to us. Without her, they stand no chance against us,” he sat in front his boss and kept sending wary glances your way. “Letting her go like you did before wasn’t a good idea. She knows too much about everyone to live normally now. Do you really believe the Organization will protect her?”

“Knowing the strings the government could pull – and add on to the fact Nanami Kento, one of the richest men in this country works for them that it’s safe to assume each figure in them is a powerhouse – I don’t doubt their promise one bit.”

“But you’ll go to jail if you let her surrender you. Or worse, they’ll destroy the clan from the bottom up.”

“I know that, Geto.”

Geto groaned, brushing his hands through his hair from how indifferent his boss was being, drinking champagne as if he wasn’t willingly walking into his own death. “Then why aren’t you thinking more clearly about this? I understand you love her and you want to make it up to her, but we can’t let her do whatever she pleases! In order to keep herself safe, she’s going to sacrifice you! She’s dangerous, Sir, she’s been lying to her husband the whole time and who’s to say she isn’t capable of doing something worse to a stranger like you?”

“I told you already, Geto,” Satoru swirled the pink liquid in his flute, his face empty and unreadable. “I know.”

“With all due respect, Sir, I don’t agree with your decision. The clan would fall without you and you don’t have siblings or an heir. No one is powerful to hold the clan together aside from you so if you leave – there’s no more hope for us,” he sighed when Satoru didn’t budge. “I at least want you to reconsider your actions. She’s just a woman, Sir. It’s either we kill her or we imprison her. You let her go before because you believed she would be your downfall, and quite frankly, it’s happening all over again.”

Satoru gazed out the window, bringing the flute to his lips with a dark glint in his eye that Geto recognized meant trouble, or worse, an actual solution to this hellish situation.

“Which is why we’re going to pay an old friend a visit, Geto. There’s only one person who could turn the tables around.”

ADDITIONAL NOTE: TOJI IS COMING SOON!!! what are your theories on what might be on that island and *drum roll* WHO IS GOJO’S OLD FRIEND?!��

taglist open:

@tete027 @sixeyesgojo @shingekiyofeels @q-the-rockaholic @whatthefuckisthatthing @rogueofbullshit @kat-su-ki @kellyyween @sebootyforlife @asshxcm @charlie-xo @aoi-turtle @ladywaifuuwrites @savantsoulfinder @my-reality-is-in-my-head @hannya-quinn @90s-belladonna @tinyfrogsinmybrain @kinekyuroo @evesmores @ambiguous-something @lilith412426 @kakashiharusohma @aizawap @yumeneji @dora-the-grownup @jotazinha @themrsgojo @d34r-s4t4n @marai-t @toji-bee @hai-cool @badsadbby​ @stesphy @peach-buns-unicorns @misslezah @gracefullyfallinglikeanime @iwaplant @mikiminaccch @riri-marley​ | bolded users cannot be tagged

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 310: A Tale of Two Kacchans

Previously on BnHA: Flashback!Deku was all, “hey, you know what sounds like a good decision? Abandoning my studies at the safest place in the country so that the bad guy who wants to find me and kill me has literally nothing standing in his way of doing that.” All Might was all, “I fucking knew you were going to say some bullshit like that so whatever, but I’M COMING WITH YOU and I’m also going to invite the Hawksquad to come with us, mostly so that I can steal Jeanist’s car.” Jeanist was all, “okay fine you can borrow my car, All Might, but only if you wear jeans.” All Might was all, “okay sure” and he wore jeans and also sunglasses and a leather jacket and it was pretty rad. Anyway so now they’re out there fighting crime and hunting down the LoV and stuff, and absolutely none of it is going to end well, I’m just letting you know now. But I guess we’ll let them enjoy it while it lasts.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all “happy belated Kacchan’s Birthday makeste, here’s the flashback you really wanted at long last,” and proceeds to pull the old vestige flashback out of the kitchen drawer and upend its contents all over my Friday afternoon without the slightest bit of warning. OFA III is all “WHAT’S UP I’M JUST SOME GUY, HELLO,” and okay?? Hello yourself. OFA II, on the other hand, is all, “okay yeah I have different hair and stuff, but I’m like 98% sure I’m either Bakugou or his goddamn twin, I mean look at me.” Which, yeah. I looked, and he really is though you guys. Anyway though, so he and OFA II basically just showed up in the First (who goes by Yoichi now)’s prison cell one day all “HEY THERE, WE’RE HERE TO SAVE YOU, APPARENTLY, ALTHOUGH WE SEEM REAL CONFUSED ABOUT IT TBH BUT HEY.” And so they saved him, and Yoichi was all “hey nice to meet you do you want to join my super-exclusive Saving The World Club”, and so they did, and then the chapter ended lol. I would have said yes too.

oh my sweet lord?? I didn’t realize we were getting a color page this week, but LOOK AT THIS

this could have been a fucking volume cover. I’m almost mad that it wasn’t, lol but I mean fkldjslklk just look at it??! Horikoshi out here spoiling us and making sure we’re well fed since next week the manga is on break for Golden Week. well this will certainly help to tide me over. hot damn look at those colors

so now it’s raining on some dumb building in the middle of somewhere

is this where the Hawksquad has set up camp for the night? or are we actually cutting back to the League? that’d be unexpected (but not unwelcome)

ffff nevermind dammit it’s just more random citizens under attack

feels like this is the third or fourth scene we’ve had of civilians being Under Attack since this arc started. I mean no offense, but I think we get it by this point. it’s the end times, etc. etc. we’re well aware that things have gone to shit

so apparently these two guys are facing off against a girl with a mutant quirk. and she’s telling them that she’s not a monster and she was just scared, oh shit. I believe her btw, you can see it in her face

but these assholes don’t believe her at all and they’re pointing what looks to be some type of support item gun at her

you know what’s interesting, is that this kind of random quirk discrimination is the exact kind of thing PLF and the like were swearing up and down they’d put a stop to with their glorious revolution. it’s almost like those guys were completely full of shit. huh

so yeah, fortunately for this woman someone is stepping in and intervening before she can be blasted to bits by this trigger-happy asshole for absolutely no fucking reason

looks like a hero actually stepped in and saved her?? but no that can’t be, heroes are the ones that ruin everything and make everything worse, or so I understand. lol where did all of this sarcasm come from out of nowhere dlkdsjlk I’m sorry guys I just suddenly got swept up in the hypocrisy of certain people’s philosophies out of the blue idek

anyway so it is of course Deku saving her, and now he’s trying to talk thess jerks down all diplomatically instead of just kicking their asses, which is certainly a choice

MOTHERFUCKER I’M

fucking impossible to miss the real world parallels here. shit. this woman nearly died for her crime of Walking While Having A Mutant Quirk huh. and meanwhile Deku is just letting this guy scurry away and even letting him keep that fucking bazooka of his, like, ????

fucking hell she’s crying!!

lmao this chapter is actively trying to make me mad now huh. that’s some genuine righteous anger I’m feeling on behalf of this fictional ferret lady whom I only met two minutes ago. girl you are not the one who needs to explain herself here!! you didn’t do anything wrong holy fuck. everything about this situation sucks so much

fkKJKLMMMHFGH

“I’m sorry I made you upset, please enjoy this panel of tiny!floating!Deku hefting this lady’s massive beach umbrella up for her like the fucking gentleman he is” well okay then thank you sir

and JUST LIKE THAT the tension is broken and I’m entirely incapable of taking the rest of this conversation seriously because Deku’s trying to be all calming and authoritative, but now the illusion has been broken because I know he only comes up to like her knees

“well thanks again for saving me young man. I’ll leave you to it, I’m sure you’ve got more important things to do like protecting your Lucky Charms cereal from all those greedy children”

oh hey All Might

you wouldn’t have just let that guy with the bazooka just walk away to commit more attempted murders would you?? man

OH MY GOD DEKU IS IMMEDIATELY DITCHING HIM AGAIN

I ~CANNOT STAY HERE~ oh, well, sorry to keep you detained I know you’re busy

dfslkjlk oh my god

fucking told you Deku didn’t pack any food lol. it’s literally all notebooks in that bag you guys. he couldn’t just leave them all in his dorm room when he left, because what if someone tried to read them and came across one of the pages where he absentmindedly doodled Kacchan’s name surrounded by little tiny hearts oh gosh

AWWWWW

I needed this Horikoshi. thank you for this wholesome soul-cleansing interaction after all of that bullshit earlier

so now Deku’s climbing up this tall building to eat his lunchbox more dramatically. Tokoyami would be proud

and Banjou is saying that society right now is just like in The Good Old Days (read: bad old days) when quirk society was even more of a mess than it is now

which is exactly how AFO likes it, no doubt

so now Deku’s having a whole conversation with Banjou seemingly out loud lol, weird. and he’s basically saying that they don’t have any clues as to where TomurAFO and the League are hiding right now, and none of the Tartarus escapees they’ve found knew anything either

mmmmmfmhm, marge simpson noises

but you think you can?? you, alone, by yourself?? you think you stand a chance?? I just need you to think this all through a bit more kid

Deku it is NOT JUST YOUR RESPONSIBILITY ALONE, PLEASE REALIZE THIS ALREADY. YOU MAY BE THE CHOSEN ONE, BUT EVEN THE CHOSEN ONE NEEDS HIS FRIENDS BY HIS SIDE GODDAMMIT

and of course my pleading is all in vain, because he’s a fictional character who can’t fucking hear me, and also because I’m pretty sure there’s only one character who is going to actually be able to get him to hear reason here. I’ve been saying it, and I’ll keep saying it lol. so until then I guess I’ll just have to be patient

anyway so it appears we’re segueing into another flashback??? HORIKOSHI PLEASE GIVE ME SOME BAKUCRUMBS BEFORE THE TWO WEEK BREAK, I BEG YOU

dlKSDJLFKWJELKGHSLGKLEKJLFKHLGK

YES, THANK YOU, I KNOW WHERE THIS FUCKING IS LOL, IT’S NOT LIKE I’VE BEEN OBSESSED WITH FINDING OUT WHAT HAPPENS IN THE REST OF THIS SCENE OR ANYTHING LMAO. BUT ANYWAYS DON’T MIND ME, YOU WERE SAYING??

oh my god oh my god I’m not readyyyyy, but also FUCK YEAH I AM SO FUCKING READY LOL LET’S DO THIS

YOU GUYS

I’M ABOUT TO STEP IN THAT ROOM AND YEET ONE OF THOSE FUCKING CHAIRS AT YOU ALL

NOOOOO

I’M ABOUT TO GRAB BANJOU’S GOGGLES AND STRETCH THEM OUT AND SNAP THEM BACK SO THEY SMACK THE SHIT OUT OF HIS FOREHEAD!!! IT’S WHAT HE DESERVES!!! I’M ABOUT TO MOVE TO JAPAN AND GET A JOB WITH DOORDASH AND FIND OUT WHAT HORIKOSHI LIKES TO ORDER FOR LUNCH SO I CAN BE THE ONE TO DELIVER IT SO THAT WHEN HE OPENS THE DOOR I CAN FINALLY ASK HIM “HEY WHAT THE FUCK” IN PERSON

AHHH NO EVERYBODY SHHHHH STOP TALKING!!!!

SOMEONE PLEASE TELL THAT PERSON SCREAMING AT THE TOP OF THEIR LUNGS IN THE BACKGROUND TO SHUT THE FUCK UP, OH WAIT, THAT’S ME

(」゜ロ゜)」 щ(゜ロ゜щ)

LOL THIS FUCKING ASSHOLE!!! LOOK AT YOU!!! YOU’RE NOT KIRISHIMA OR SHINSOU OR IIDA IN A WIG OR ANYBODY LOL. YOU’RE JUST A DUDE. BROOOOO ABOUT FUCKING TIME, WHAT’S GOOD

I CAN’T SCROLL DOWN AHHHH BUT I HAVE TO BUT IT’S TOO INTENSE AHHHHHHH

I CAN SEE THE TOP OF HIS SPIKY HEAD, IT’S FINALLY THAT TIME AHHHHHHHH OKAY I’M GONNA DO IT HERE GOES

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

IT’S HIM. IT FUCKING REALLY FUCKIGN IS HIM OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. WHY AM I SO SHOCKED LMAO I’M THE ONE WHO’S BEEN SAYING THIS THE WHOLE DAMN TIME LMAO. OH GOD. O H MY FUCKING GOD

well okay then sir. so are you an ~ancestor~ or a Kacchan from another timeline or so what’s your deal then

YOICHI WHO IS YOICHI

YOICHI ALWAYS KNOWS WHAT’S UP. LMAO WHO IS YOICHI

(ETA: I’m going to punch myself in the face lmao. he’s Yoichi. he, the First. that’s his name. name reveal at long last what what!!)

MORE IMPORTANTLY SHOULD I BE IMAGINING NOBU’S VOICE RIGHT NOW BECAUSE LMAO I AM ANYWAY BUT YEAH

(ETA: I actually think he’s going to end up being voiced by Nobuhiko whether he ends up being Kacchan or not, just because it fits right in with the general “identical in almost every way” aesthetic he’s got going on.)

TUMBLR HOW WE LIKING OUR ANGSTY ALTERNATE UNIVERSE KACCHAN?? EVERYONE HATED YOU SO MUCH BEFORE THEY EVEN MET YOU, BUT THEY FORGOT TO CONSIDER THE POSSIBILITY THAT YOU MIGHT BE HOT LMAO WHAT A TWIST

“some bright-eyed brat” oh come on. IT’S GOTTA BE HIM LOL

oh my god you all are probably TIRED AS FUCK of all my screaming but I’M SORRY IMMA HAVE TO DO IT ONE LAST TIME BECAUSE...

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

that face. that expression!! THE FACT THAT HE’S OUT HERE OPENING DOORS WITH HIS FEET, LIKE HOLY SHIT!! JUST ADMIT THE JIG IS UP ALREADY

and so they really are the ones who busted First out of his jail cell huh

so how did they know you were in the room?? why did they come and break you out?? and how, pray tell, did they know to get you to transfer OFA to them?? hmmmMMMMMMMM

oh MY GOD

you guys. oh my god. it’s too much. every last bit of it lines up exactly with the Bakuverse theory sdkjfj I’m short-circuiting. it’s really fucking happening oh my lord

HELLO SEXY ALTERNATE UNIVERSE KACCHAN WITH HIS SEXY FUCKING SCAR, FUCK YEAH WE REALLY ARE EATING GOOD THIS CHAPTER

HELL YEAH WE’RE GOING. WE’RE GOING FULL SPEED YOU GUYS. LMAO I’M SO FUCKING HYPED RIGHT NOW I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MYSELF WEFKJLDKFFFF

SO, EVERYONE, LET’S RECAP. -- ACTUALLY NO, I STARTED TO WRITE UP A LIST, BUT I IMMEDIATELY REALIZED IT REALLY JUST NEEDS TO GO IN ITS OWN THREAD. SO I MADE IT AND POSTED IT, AND NOW I’M FINISHING UP THIS HOT MESS OF A RECAP POST. SO NOW WE’RE BACK TO THIS ONE FINAL PANEL OF DEKU EATING HIS KATSU ALL SERIOUS

YES SIR. YES SIR, WE GOING, FULL SPEED AHEAD, WHATEVER, IDK WTF IS HAPPENING BUT YES!!

lol, anyways so as I said in my other post, mysterious sexy guys with tragic pasts are what bring us together as a fandom, so whatever your thoughts are on the rest of it, let’s just rejoice in that. it’s what we deserve

[raewritez]

Still

based on this request: I’m thirsty for a love triangle. Maybe Sokka and Zuko fighting for the reader’s affection. And she chooses ____!

warnings: one swear word right there ⬇️, aangst, simping

It fucking hurt.

Sure, Sokka knew Zuko was good now, and he knew that the two of you had history. But he couldn't have prepared himself for the ache that took place in his chest whenever you would choose to sit by Zuko around the campfire, when you would tease him in that playful tone of yours, when you would smile at him and it seemed like the sun beamed a bit brighter. It hurt because Sokka didn't get that anymore. Or maybe he did, but he was too blinded by jealousy to process the fact that you cared about both of them. In Sokka's mind, your gaze was always on Zuko, on his stupid fluffy hair and his oh-so-perfect stupid face. Your hand was always somewhere on him; on his arm, around his shoulder, on his face when you healed the cuts that resulted from your latest skirmish. He could only clench his jaw, standing and storming off to where he could be alone with his misery. He'd feel your eyes on him as he walked away, probably widened in confusion and your head probably tilted in that stupid, adorable way that made Sokka's heart melt every time. But he'd continue, not sparing you a glance. It's not like you cared, anyway.

You did care.

What was his problem? Things hadn't been this tense between you and Sokka since you first met, since he labeled you as the enemy and scoured you with his glares. But that was months ago. You weren't used to this standoffishness, not used to the way he'd turn on you and leave you in the dust. No, you were used to Sokka, your Sokka. The one that held you when you cried when the Earth Kingdom fell and Zuko sided with his sister, the one that teased you mercilessly with that lopsided grin of his, the one that raced you to the top of mulberry trees to see who could get the best fruit. The one that came to you when his mind was racing, face nuzzled into your neck as your fingers pulled his hair loose from his wolf-tail. That was your Sokka, not the stranger that walked away from you now.

Your concerned gaze was broken by a soft tap on your shoulder.

"Hey, you ok?"

You forced a smile, turning to Zuko. "I'm fine. Just tired. Your story put me to sleep."

He scoffed, bumping you and turning away to hide his grin. "Well, it's actually my Uncle's story. You can blame him."

"I'm sure I'd be more interested if Iroh was telling it," you grinned. "Maybe you're just a bad storyteller."

"I'm a great storyteller. You're just a bad listener."

"Mhm. Sure."

He let out a breathy chuckle, eyes darting to your face. Spirits, he'd missed you. This is what he'd longed for those three years; this closeness. Memories of his childhood ran through his mind - memories of playtime and friendship, of two best friends who had nothing to fear but curfews and monsters under the bed. Zuko had fought and struggled, had chosen right and chosen wrong, but all those choices had led him here. Back to you. And now, his body lit aflame by your touch and his heart skipping by the song of your laughter, he'd never been more certain of anything in his life.

He was thrilled to have you back, but it was different. Before, in the painted halls of the Firenation palace and under the maroon quilts of his mother's bed, he'd had you all to himself. Now, he had to share. It was strange, seeing you laugh so boisterously with Toph or hug Aang so closely, seeing you walk arm in arm with Katara as you went into town for groceries. He was in much better standing with the group now - he knew he was forgiven for his mistakes and was welcome to share in the friendship they so generously provided. He was overwhelmingly grateful, but he cherished the moments he spent with you. And they'd have been better, if not for the other boy in the group.

Zuko had no problem with Sokka. Quite the contrary, he admired him for his leadership and laughed at his jokes, and the time he spent with him was something he enjoyed. But he envied him. Zuko saw the way the Water Tribe boy looked at you; like you were the sun itself and had put all the stars in the sky just for him. He saw the fondness in the other boy's eyes when you spoke, saw the comfortability in his movements as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder. He had to remind himself that the two of you were close - that you'd spent months traveling together while he chased you all over the world. He'd guessed you would be close, but it seemed he'd underestimated the power of your love for your friends and this boy. Because you were brighter when he was around, eyes flickering to him as if on instinct whenever he arrived at the campsite. Your eyes grew tender and your voice soft, and Sokka's affection mirrored your own.

Your eyes locked on his, and he felt like he could drown in them forever. Your lips curved into a grin, and his worries and insecurities were washed away as quickly as they came. You stood up, offering him your hand. "Come on, let's get ready for bed."

He took it eagerly, smiling up at you in a way that made your heart warm. You reached up to ruffle his hair, skipping away and laughing at his indignant "Hey!" before he caught up to you and flicked your forehead. You swatted his hand away, glaring up at him. He only smirked before walking ahead of you.

You grabbed your bedroll, laying it out on the dusty ground. Zuko laid his close by. After putting out the fire and bidding goodnight to your friends, casting a sad look to Sokka's figure which sat idly upon the cliffside, you made your way inside and shut your eyes, Zuko not far behind.

///

Yep. Sokka was annoyed. He thought going for a walk would clear his mind, maybe preoccupy his thoughts with something other than you, but he guesses he was wrong. It was impossible when he could hear your laughter all the way from camp, no doubt directed towards the Firebender. He swallowed roughly, picking up his pace. He couldn't stand it; you and him. Sokka had no problem with Zuko. They were friends! Well, pretty much. Zuko had proved himself to be loyal, and there was no reason for him not to be trusted. He was cool - a little awkward albeit, but hey, Sokka can understand where that would come from after spending three years as an isolated, ponytail-wearing, Avatar-obsessed banished prince. He had no problem with Zuko, really. He guessed that he just...missed you.

Katara said he was jealous, something he promptly waved away, dismissing her with a wave. She'd rolled her eyes and called after him, "You can't ignore it forever, Sokka!" Ok, whatever Katara.

He was not jealous. He didn't care about the time you spent with the fire bender, or the way you seemed happier now that he was around. He didn't care that he hadn't talked to you in two days, and he definitely didn't care that your sleeping bag was sidled up cozily next to Zuko's.

"I'm so stupid," he muttered, lowering himself to the ground. He swung his legs over the cliff, feet dangling in the air. He turned his head, catching glimpse of the dying embers in the campfire, Toph's rock tent and Katara and Aang's sleeping figures, and you, asleep with your arms stretched in Zuko's direction. He held his head in his hands, sighing frustratedly. Yeah, maybe he was a little jealous. But really, why wouldn't he be? He used to sleep next to you, he was the one who made you laugh and woke you up in the middle of the night to sneak a ride on Appa. Now what? It'd been days since the two of you had a real conversation, so different from the constant chattering and jokes that had made his time saving the world so much more bearable. He missed you. So, so much. Spirits, what he would give for a day with you, the ones like you used to have. Where you would do whatever you wanted and usually end up scolded by Katara, but those were the days that made him forget the war and the reality of his unfortunate circumstances, when his heart was light and his worries quenched.

Those days meant everything to him, but he was afraid they were expendable. Because now you spent them with Zuko without so much as a glance his way. Sure, it wasn't like he was making much an effort, but still. You'd told him about Zuko; about the friend you'd lost to banishment who'd come out like his father. He'd thought you were crazy when you said with such conviction that he still had some good in him, but had comforted you nonetheless. He sat with you in his arms and told you the story of the time he got beat up by a penguin back home. He felt proud when he made you laugh.

You meant everything to him, but maybe it was different for you. He knew you loved him, although maybe not in the way he was beginning to question his own love as being, but he knew you loved him. You made sure he knew; in your smiles, in your words, in your touch. But he also knew you loved everyone else - the way you talked with his sister and softened her edges, allowing her to rest from the motherly role she put herself in and taking her under your arm instead. The way Toph latched onto you, teasing you with utter fondness and accepting your help without resistance. The absolute adoration that Aang held for you - resting his head on your shoulder and coming to you with his troubles, always searching for your guidance in his trials and relying on your strength and unwavering faith in him.

But it seemed different with Zuko. With him you were unbearably gentle, reassuring him of his value and rekindling the lost friendship of children ripped apart. It was obvious to everyone; the pure affection you held for this boy. It was obvious to Sokka, and, spirits, it stung. Because had you ever looked at him like that? Had he ever made you laugh as loudly as you did for Zuko, who was seemingly not even trying? He didn't know and it ate away at him, clawing at his chest and leaving it burning. Maybe he was in too deep now, too lost in love and bitterness to see the olive branches you offered him and the way your eyes darkened when he turned them away. It was fine. He was perfectly fine and would continue to be fine, even as Zuko's hand reached out for yours. Even as he felt you slipping away, even as he was alone. So terribly, painfully alone.

———-

part two?👀

[xshinigamikittenx]

The Quiet Game

NSFW Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader

MINORS DNI

You swear this class is going to kill you. With this much of a class load, there’s no time for friendships or romantic relationships, and that’s fine with you. They were just distractions anyway. It’s usually just the attendants and other students completing work studies at the library this late. This is usually perfect on most nights, but today is Friday, and you forgot he would be here...

Thank you SO MUCH to TrashyBee on Twitter for bringing Katsuki to life here. Good lawd 😩

A/N: Whew. Yet another one shot that ran away with me. lmaoooo. Couldn't really help it though, I mean...sheeeeesh. But child, anywaaays...this was fun. :) I'm also hoping you've been to a library and seen what the private study rooms look like, because it's kindof important here 😅 but if not here's an idea. Hope your future library thoughts are full of smut productivity!

9.5k words

CW/TW: semi-public sex, oral sex, clothed sex, vaginal sex, biting, swallowing, light degradation, gagging, fingering, hair pulling, deep thrusts, praise

You swear this class is going to kill you. Why the fuck did you choose to take on so many credits this year? Take more classes at once so you can finish early. The goal from the beginning was to get through university as quickly as possible so you could start making the money you knew would help keep you far away from home. Wealth is not something that runs in your family. Everything you get, you work for, and your degree will be no different. You keep your head down, focusing on one goal, to make enough money to support yourself and live the way you want. With this much of a class load, there’s no time for friendships or romantic relationships, and that’s fine with you. They were just distractions anyway.

Your roommates, however, don’t have that same logic. Some nights when you’re up studying, you can hear them, and whoever they brought back to the dorm moaning, the bed sometimes rhythmically bumping into the paper-thin walls. “Just like that...yes-yes-mmmmore. Ffuck! ” It’s...distracting, to say the least, and frustrating because your body’s reaction constantly betrays your mind's focus. Your thighs clenching together, your pulse quickening; no way in hell you can study in your room, especially not at night.

You shake the thoughts out of your head, looking up at the massive main library, your feet unconsciously moving forward. This is your sanctuary, the place you feel you can be most at peace, and finally give way to the maintained focus you knew you needed. The warm glow of the lights through the windows always makes you feel calm. The cold air whips into you as you push open the door and take in the endless rows and layers of books keeping you company. There’s hardly ever anyone here at this time, a discovery you made one night when you found yourself packing your books in frustration to escape the sounds coming from the next room in the middle of the night.

It’s usually just the attendants and other students completing work studies at the library this semester. This is usually perfect on most nights, but today is Friday, and you forgot he would be here. Your eyes land on his back, surveying him at a distance. The fact that he works here doesn’t quite compute with you. He’s built like he should be throwing a ball somewhere, all broad shoulders and toned arms. The sleeves of his olive green sweater are rolled up, emphasizing the lines and ridges of his toned muscles. It’s borderline irritating how good he looks, entirely focused on a mundane task. His blonde hair is somehow perfectly dishevelled, the lean form of his body bent over the desk, filling out some kind of paperwork while you walk in his direction. Usually, you would try to avoid him; talking to people, in general, is not a specialty of yours, let alone talking to someone who seems to have a short fuse.

You wait for a few seconds, thinking he’s got to know you’re there. He had to have heard the door open, right? But he hasn’t turned around yet, and thinking about actually opening your mouth to speak to him felt like the air was getting sucked out of the building. You were already introverted with high anxiety, and you did not need to feel uncomfortable right now, especially under the looming stress of this project which was due in two days. So you waited, hoping the subtle noises you were making, readjusting your bag, and taking a deep breath, would possibly get his attention. Fuck, this is taking too long; I’ve got to say something. “Um...hey.” Jesus Christ, really couldn’t think of anything better to say? You practically sneer at yourself at how lame you sound, but this certainly got his attention. He turned half of his body towards you, one of his scarlet eyes glaring at you over his shoulder. His face was rather expressionless, betraying the scorching feeling his eyes deliver, making you suddenly self-conscious of what you looked like standing in front of him. You didn’t think about what you were wearing when you left your dorm, throwing on a go-to pair of leggings and the first hoodie you saw before storming out of the overly cramped room, leaving the heavy breaths and moans of your neighbour behind you.

“Oi, you need something? Speak up.” Your face immediately flushed. The heat rising up your neck and blooming across your face, triggering your palms to start sweating. You didn’t think you were unnecessarily quiet; it’s a fucking library. You knew he was an asshole, but what the fuck did you do to him? Before you think about it anymore, you shift your thoughts towards how to respond to him, coming up blank. You grip your bag tighter, your mind racking itself, but the anxiety has already caught hold of you, and it’s as if you're stranded on an island with no help in sight. So you resort to your usual defensive mechanism; you bite back.

“So, what...? You want me to scream to get your attention?” He turns his body toward you, putting the full picture of himself on display. You’ve never been this close to him, actively avoiding him after hearing him ream other students out for being too loud or misplacing books. You didn’t realize how intimidating his stature was until now, being less than six feet away from him.

He wasn’t excessively tall, but his posture would convince you otherwise. Even as he leaned back against the length of the desk behind him, he was still probably a handful of inches taller than you. He lifts his glasses to rest on the top of his almost unruly blonde hair as he speaks, “Can’t say why I would find screaming necessary in a library, but if you need something, you should say it clearly so I can help you and not have to spend five minutes of my time explaining common courtesy to someone who knows better.”

Your annoyance is suddenly replaced with rage at his words. What the fuck? Is he trying to put this on me? Doesn’t he fucking work here? Isn’t it his job to pay attention if someone needs help? You’re even more pissed because you wouldn’t have to deal with this shit if you could study in your room. The constant reminder of your roommate getting railed while you were trying to work made that impossible, so here you are. It’s not like you wanted to ask him for help, but you need access to a private study room, and you have to request it from the attendant. Except for tonight, when you’re pent up and stressed, you have to deal with him. “I wouldn’t have to speak up if you were doing your job, asshole.” Fuck. He’s distracting me. I don’t have time for this. You watch his face as one of his eyebrows lift while he places his large hands on the ledge of the desk behind him, baring the outline of his toned chest stretching the fabric of his sweater. “Now, I know you’re not that much of a dumbass. What do you think I was doing before you walked in here and started wasting my time?” Your eyes widen, inadvertently travelling the length of his body, from the smug ass expression resting on his face to his rippling arms, tense as his hands grip the dark wooden desk. For some reason, this annoyed you even more; why did he have to be insulting and infuriatingly attractive?

His lips curl into a smirk, revelling in the glare you’re aiming at him. Dumbass? Is this asshole for real? At this point, he’s pissed you off past the point of giving a fuck. You would’ve walked away by now if you didn’t actually need his help. But if he wants to play this game, fine. A smug smile spreads across your face as you speak, “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was speaking to someone who was unable to multitask. Your life must be so hard, huh?” He drops his head, laughing as he pushes himself off the desk, taking a step toward you. Your hands grip your bag tighter as he comes closer, lifting his head so his ruby-coloured eyes meet yours. “That’s pretty fucking hilarious coming from someone who’s at the library in the middle of the night on a fuckin’ Friday.” He straightens up, shoving his hands in his pockets as he continues, “Seems more like your life is hard, and you’re just pissed off about it.” His gaze is piercing, attempting to slice through your facade of confidence, but you’re currently too livid to give a shit. You’re done talking to him, you just need to get into the study room and away from this asshole.

“No,” you seethe, “I’m pissed off because I can’t work in my room, I have shit to do, and this conversation is a waste of time.” You lift your head higher, meeting his gaze as he smirks down at you. “Oh, seems like I’m not the only one who can’t multitask then, huh?” He chuckles, watching you as you fold your arms and turn your head, breaking eye contact with him. “I just need one of the study rooms opened.”

“Oh, so you do need something,” he says, his voice dropping as he leans forward, bringing his face into your line of sight, his sharp features coming into focus. “You said it yourself, you wasted my time, so I think you can ask a little nicer than that.” You don’t think you’ve ever wanted to punch someone more than how much you want to punch his perfectly fucking chiselled jaw in that moment. Regardless of how much his face appeals to your more violent tendencies, you realize you don’t have an option. All of this bullshit will have been for nothing if you’re unable to get into that fucking room. Your jaw clenches, your teeth sinking into the inside of your cheek as your eyes bore into him. You make a point not to break eye contact when you speak through the smile you’ve painted on, “Oh, where are my manners...would you...please...open a study room so that I can get away from you?” You smile wider, contrasting the cold glare you shoot at him as he grins, watching your edges fray. He slides one of his hands out of his pocket, assessing you while he tosses the keys up in his hand, the dull metallic sound of their impact in the palm of his hand, peaking your annoyance further. “Well hell,” he says, “it’s about damn time.”

You roll your eyes as he catches the keys a final time, smirking at you before he turns to exit the enclosed space of the front desk. You readjust your bag and look up to follow him, balking at seeing him walk in front of you. He takes a few steps ahead of you, his coffee colored pants clinging to the muscles of his legs as he heads towards the back of the library where the study rooms are located. Fuck, his ass looks good. You’re grateful when you take a glance around you, suddenly conscious of what your borderline heated exchange probably looked like to anyone who could’ve seen it. Not to mention the fact that it probably definitely looked like you were staring at his ass just now. You refocus, remembering that you’re supposed to be following him. You train your eyes on the back of his neck, trying to keep yourself from fixating on his perfectly sculpted form; when you see him turn his head, eyeing you. His gaze travels up and down, then up to meet your eyes before he speaks, “For someone who claims to dislike wasted time, you sure are slow.”

Fuck. Did he catch me looking at him? Your chest tightens at the thought. Just hurry the fuck up and get to the room so you can do what you came here for. You signal your legs to pick up the pace until you’re almost in stride with him and looking straight ahead. You know where the study rooms are; you just need him to open it for you, but why does it feel like it’s taking forever to get there? Your body grows warmer, anxiety still pumping through you from your previous conversation. Now being alone in this giant space in silence is adding emphasis to the fact that you’re practically alone. You try to distract yourself, feigning interest in the books that line the shelves as you walk past them. We’ve got to be close now; just focus on the room. You look ahead, expecting to see the study rooms’ glass windows but instead are met with more shelves of books. What the fuck? Did they move them? How long have we been walking? You glance over at him, accidentally making eye contact because he was already looking at you.

Without thinking, you look away, and then you hear him speak, “Ya know, no ones usually here at this time on a Friday. Don’t you have better shit to do?” Seriously? If he’s going to be a dick, why is he even wasting his breath talking to me?

“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t,” you bite back, too tangled up in your own thoughts to decipher anything less aggressive, “and I don’t want to be here just as much as you don’t want me to be here.”

He continues walking, and you push ahead of him, attempting to put some distance between you. You don’t need him to lead you to the room; the library is only so big. Getting there on your own and waiting for him to open it would be better than dealing with this bullshit. You see him looking over at you in your peripheral vision as you pass him, and he laughs. “You don’t wanna be here, but all of a sudden, you’re in a hurry. A little conflicting, don’t you think?”

You roll your eyes. Fuck off. Is what you would’ve said if you wanted to continue this conversation. He would definitely have something to say to that. “Are you forgetting that I’ve got what you want?” You stop dead in your tracks and spin on your heels to face him, “Excuse me?” He doesn’t even flinch at your raised tone, you could practically hear your own voice echoing around you as he walks up to you, stopping inches away. He’s so close you can smell him, a warm scent of amber and oak catching you off guard as you hold your ground. His lips lilt into a mocking half-smile as he moves his hand towards you to dangle the keys directly in front of your face. “What? You want to get into the room, don’t you?” Your focus shifts from the keys to his crimson eyes, blurring everything else around you as your body reacts to the heat radiating off of his skin. He feels...warm. I wonder - Your gaze drops to his lips, maddeningly curled into a taunting smirk. “Well, now I’m wondering what you thought I was talking about.”

He pulls the keys into the palm of his hand with a metallic snap, the sound almost making you jump as your eyes widen. You find yourself holding your breath as the tightening in your chest climbs up to your throat. Say something. Fucking anything. Your face must tell him everything he needs to know, because he doesn’t wait for a response. “How’s this, I’ll let you off the hook if you tell me why you’re here, dealing with my bullshit, when you could be studying in your dorm.”

This is none of his fucking business, but it’s easier to answer than the previous question, so fuck it. “I can’t focus there.” He raises an eyebrow at you, clearly not satisfied with your answer. You roll your eyes and sigh, “It’s just...noisy. I can’t think straight.”

He laughs at your response, “Yeah I can see that you're easily distracted.” You feel his eyes hovering over your body before meeting your gaze and shifting his weight to start walking again. You take a deep breath, silently relieved that whatever the fuck that was is over. “There’s this invention,” he says as he walks ahead of you “called headphones, ever thought of using those?” You shoot daggers into the back of his head as he turns the corner and you see the study rooms up ahead. Thank fucking god. He sifts through the keys as he walks, locating the one he needed to open the door. His hands move to slide the key into the lock, “Tch. Unless you’ve got roommates that are loud when they fuck. Headphones might not help much.” You know this is a joke but the heat spreading through your face, and the way your body tenses up catches his attention. “Did I strike a nerve,” he asks, smirking at you as his hand grips the door handle.

“Just open the door.” He raises an eyebrow and you release an exasperated sigh, “Please.”

He swings the door open, holding it open as he waits for you to walk through. Finally. I can get this asshole out of my face and work. You walk towards the door, and you notice he isn’t moving. I can hold the door on my own. Why is he still standing there? As you move you eye the entrance to the room, realizing you’re going to need to get insanely close to him to get through the doorway. Fuck it. Just slip by him and move on. “Listen, I don’t bite,” he says, noticing your moment of hesitation with a sly smile. You roll your eyes, making a point to look him in the eyes as you attempt to get by him. His piercing gaze slices through you, stoking the flames within your core you’ve been harnessing all night; fuck, maybe all semester. You fail to keep the flush from blooming across your face, turning your head away from him as you attempt to brush past him. You can feel him watching you, it feels like heat is emanating from his skin, pulling you closer as you hear a low voice directly in your ear, “Unless you want me to.”

What? It was a split second that you were close enough to hear him. Your breath catches as you finally make it past him, his words echoing in your head. Did he just-? You turn around to face him, “What did you just s-“ but he was already leaving, walking back towards the front of the library, probably to finish working on whatever the hell had him so focused when you arrived earlier.

You turn away, your back towards the floor to ceiling window of the small room as your mind reels from the last thing he said to you. I swear I heard him correctly. But why would he say that? Am I fucking crazy? You mindlessly unpack what you need out of your bag and sit at the desk, trying and failing miserably for almost an hour to focus on your work. You find yourself repeatedly scanning the same page because you can’t stop yourself from looking over your shoulder to see if he’s nearby. You nibble at the tip of your pen, looking at the book in front of you and unable to comprehend a single thing. Your oral fixation is running rampant and your thoughts are nowhere near where they should be when the image of his lips slip into your head. What do they taste like? Your body reacts to the thought, squeezing your thighs together as your core tightens imagining his hands gripping your skin, his teeth sinking into you. Fuck. Fuck!

You turn your head again, wondering if there was any way he would be looking in your direction; his thoughts riddled with the same infuriatingly erotic images on a loop in your head. Then, you see him. His back towards you as he holds a stack of books in one arm to place on the shelves. Your eyes travel down the length of his body, the lines of muscle subtly evident through his clothes. You watch him as he reaches up to a particularly high shelf, and his sweater lifts just enough to see the definition of his lower back. Heat is building inside you, the stirring in your core causing your walls to clench, thinking about raking your nails across his back. Ffuuck...NO. Get your fucking shit together. Why would he want to fuck someone who has nothing better to do than study on a Friday night? Fucking focus. You try to gather your thoughts, but must’ve mistakenly zoned out while you were looking at him, because as soon as your eyes refocus you see his head turned in your direction, one cinder red eye smoldering into you.

Fuck! Your body stiffens, unsure what else to do besides just go back to pretending you were working on this project. That’s basically what you’ve been doing since you sat down anyways. And for what? Just for you to embarrass and distract yourself just enough for this entire ordeal to be a colossal waste of time.You start to gather your things, applying more force than necessary to shove everything back into your bag. Fuck this. I haven’t gotten anything done and it’s been two fucking hours. I should’ve just stayed in my room, used my vibrator and moved on. At least I would’ve been able to think straight.

“You must do that often, huh?”

Your eyes widen and you immediately turn your body towards the source of the voice coming from the doorway. Your eyes land on his waist, then to the large hands in his pockets as he seems to take up all the remaining space in the room. You catch a glimpse of the student ID on the lanyard threaded through his belt loop. Katsuki Bakugo. You didn’t even bother to check the picture before you looked up, eyes connecting with the same asshole smirk you’ve been replaying in your head since you sat down. I didn’t say all of that shit out loud did I?

“What are you talking about,” you snap. You really don’t feel like playing this game with him. You already made up your mind that you were leaving, there was no way in hell you were going to stick around to get made fun of. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Ha. That’s a good question,” he takes a step, crossing the length of the room to lean against the desk inches away from you. “I have a better question though. How long have you been watching me instead of working?”

It feels like your brain short circuits. Did he catch me looking for him earlier? Fuck!

“I-” it suddenly dawns on you that the only way he would’ve seen that is if he was looking at you. You just didn’t see him.

You smile up at him, crossing your arms as you lean back in your chair. “The only way you could even think that, is if you were watching me. So you tell me, Katsuki, how long was it?”

He grins as he places his hands on the edge of the desk on either side of him and leans down towards you, his face inches away from yours. His eyes hold your gaze, his crimson eyes blazing like an unhinged wildfire as he speaks, “See, it’s my job to watch you. I work here, dumbass,” he says, his eyes dropping down to your chest as you cross your arms even tighter. God, I’m such an idiot. Of course he’s watching me because he has to. What the fuck was I thinking? Further embarrassment creeps across your face at the thought of even considering that he wanted you. Then, he leans in closer, the sound of his voice a warm whisper against your ear as he speaks, “What’s your excuse?”

You almost stop breathing. Your thoughts frantically trying to come up with something; anything that wasn’t the truth. You come up blank, your expression must’ve given him the answer he was looking for, because he laughs. He laughs in your face, and as much as you want to be completely pissed off, you’re distracted by the glint of the piercing poised in the center of his tongue. Fuck.

Subduing his laughter he sits up just enough to look down at you, raising an eyebrow as he smirks, “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you? That I was watching you because I wanted to?” You glare at him, the all consuming mixture of rage and embarrassment spreading through you as your face flushes. Your nails are digging into your arms so hard that you can feel it through your sweatshirt. You can’t think of a single thing to say, but your mouth moves without thinking.

Your eyes connect, and you spit out exactly what your mind is silently screaming, “Fuck off.” You make sure you don’t look away, pointedly challenging him to say anything remotely clever in response. The grin spreading across his face is the first sign that you’ve lost that challenge.

“Pretty nasty mouth for someone who’s in the library more often than her own room.”

You flare up, everything you’ve been holding in boiling over as you bite back at him, “You don’t know shit about me,” your voice is tight, and growing louder as you let the words spill out of your mouth, “I’m here all the fucking time because I can’t deal with the fact that I have to watch everyone around me have a life while I bury myself in school. I don’t have friends or shit else to do because I don’t have fucking time. I just want to get through this hell so I can finally just do what I want! So could you, please, get the fuck out of my face so I can go.”

“The door’s right there, you could’ve left a long time ago, but here we are,” he says, his smirk dripping with sarcasm.

I’m so fucking done with this shit. You move to get up, grabbing your bag off of the desk as you turn towards the door. Your hand is reaching for the doorknob when you hear his voice again.

“Did you not hear me?”

“Loud and fucking clear. I’m leaving aren’t I?”

“For someone who’s so fucking smart you really are a dumbass,” he says, standing as he takes a step towards you.

Why haven’t you left yet? Why haven’t you opened the door and - It hits you. You replay his words in your mind, picking up on something you were too pissed off to realize until this moment.

You turn around to face him, and you’re eye level with his shoulders, inches away from you. The warm amber scent of him enveloping you as your gaze travels up his neck to the angle of his jaw, finally making eye contact as you speak, “How would you know I’m here more often than my own room?”

“Tch. Like I said before, I work here,” he says, before moving closer, the heat of his breath brushing against your face as he continues, “but I’ll admit getting to see you makes my job less shitty.”

Your chest tightens, the fluttering in your core enough to make your pulse quicken as your lips part slightly.

He’s watching your face, smirking as your body tenses up when he closes the space between you. “But if you really want to leave...” he whispers against your skin, careful not to touch you as you look up at him with pleading eyes. He brings his lips a breadth away from yours, dropping his gaze to your mouth. “I’m going to fuck you on the desk.” he says, his hands still in his pockets as his words melt into you, “If you don’t want me to, tell me right fucking now.”

He’s so close to you, all you had to do was tilt your head up just a little more and your lips would touch. The thought invaded your mind, your breath catching in your throat as your body reacted to his words, tightening your core to the point of aching. You lift your eyes to meet the heat of gaze as you speak, “Do it, then-“

“Fucking finally,” he growls, his voice raspy and low as he makes contact, his lips moving against yours as the palms of his hands travel up to your face. They slide into your hair at the nape of your neck, collecting it in his fist, while the other hand grips your hips. He pulls you into him, moving you against the wall adjacent to the door. Your back meets the wall, the impact strong enough to make sound and your mind is blank. The feeling of his hands, his lips, his body pressed against yours, overwhelming your senses as you grasp onto the fabric of his sweater. His kiss is hungry and breathless, low groans vibrating against your lips as his pierced tongue slips between them, tasting the heat of your wet mouth.

You whimper into him, your body on fire from the inside out as the thin thread of self control you have left is priming to snap. His lips curl up into a smirk at the sounds lilting out of you and a growl ripples through him as he bites your bottom lip hard enough for you to open your eyes. He releases you, his breaths heavy as he presses his forehead against yours. His scarlet irises bore into you as he speaks, “We’re going to have to do something about all that fucking noise you’re making,” he smirks, his eyes traveling from your swollen lips to your legs, taking note of how tightly you’re clenching your thighs together. “You’re a mess already aren’t you?” His breathy laugh brushes against your face as he pulls away hooking his index fingers into the waistband of your leggings and tugging just enough for them to snap back once he releases.

A soft gasp escapes your lips at the impact against your sensitive skin, the heat pooling between your thighs as your insides clench. Your body is screaming, begging for him to touch you and your mouth moves on its own. “Please,” you whisper up at him, your hands finding the hem of his sweater as you spread your fingers against his skin, feeling every ridge of hardened muscle beneath it.

He drops his gaze down to your hands as your fingertips explore the surface of his skin. A low rumble vibrates through his chest, as his eyes sear into you, “Don’t forget, you fucking asked for this.” His hands move, pulling your sweatshirt over your head and dropping it onto the floor before he leans into you, pushing his leg between your thighs while he holds both your wrists in one hand above your head against the wall. His other hand grips your hip, his fingertips digging into your skin as his lips meets your neck.

You start to move against him, trying to get a taste of the friction your body is aching for while he teases your neck with open mouth kisses. His breath is hot against your skin, teeth sinking into you, as low groans escape his lips. He feels so fucking good and you haven’t been fucked in so long you might cum before he even gets to feel how wet you are. His lips move up to your ear, his voice low as his breath caresses your skin, “You’re riding my thigh like it’s something else, baby girl.” The hand gripping your hip slides under your shirt as he speaks, palming your breast while he kisses the space behind your ear. His teeth graze against your skin as a rippling growl erupts from him, pulling a whimper from your lips while your pussy grinds against his thigh.

You can feel the length of his hardening cock against your leg as you press yourself against him. He pinches your nipple, igniting every nerve in your body as he grins against your skin, feeling your body bend for him. A gasping moan escapes your lips, the sound filling the space around you as your head drops back against the wall. He pulls his head back just enough to watch your reaction; your eyes squeezed shut as your whines spill from your open mouth. “I can feel your pussy clenching for me, y/n,” he says, his lips trailing down your exposed neck as his hand moves to your other hardened nipple. The pressure he applies is sharp and delicious causing every muscle in your body to tighten, your panting breaths mingling with his hums of satisfaction as he feels you on the edge of unraveling at his touch.

“Fuck...ha...hahh...Katsuki...” You’re on your tiptoes relishing in the feeling of his teasing fingers as your insides coil imagining the feeling of him stretching you out. He grinds against you, his arousal pressing against your leg as your nails dig into the palms of your hands. “Mmm, You’re so fucking sexy, so desperate for this fucking cock aren’t you?”

Your lips are moving before you think, your mind consumed with the heat swelling inside you, “Yes...yes...please.” You lean forward in an attempt to meet his lips but he pulls away, releasing your hands as he moves to grip your hips. You let out a small yelp when he picks you up under your ass, and turns to put you on top of the desk. His hands slide down to the crook of your legs as he stands between them, eyeing you beneath his lashes when he speaks, “Pull them down.” You lean back, searching his face as you try to collect your thoughts. You must’ve taken longer than he wanted because he leans in, placing his hand on the wall behind you as his crimson eyes burn into yours, “You’re taking your sweet fucking time, and you’re already soaked down here?”

His fingers move to your warm center, feeling your arousal soaking through your leggings as he presses circles against your aching clit. Your legs involuntarily squeeze around his hips as his hand drops from the wall to grip a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back to make you look at his face as his voice drops, “Spread...your fucking...legs.” Your pulse quickens, your blood heating up as he slows the pace of the pressure he’s circling around your clit and you whimper up at him, giving into the ripples of pleasure coursing through your body.

You want more, you lean back on your hands, hips moving to the rhythm his fingers play against your drenched core as your pleading eyes meet his gaze. You’re in a fucking library, in a room with a huge ass window. But the thought of someone seeing you makes your pulse speed up, sending a heightened thrum of pleasure streaming through you, “Hnnngh...ffuckk…” your hips move faster, cloying for more pressure, more friction, more feeling. Katsuki notices your body’s reaction, tightening his hold on your hair, causing your eyes to squeeze shut from the slight prickle of pain. “You wanna cum so fucking bad don’t you? That pussy of yours is begging for this fucking cock.” All you can do is pant in response, your eyes opening to see his face, smirking down at you as his fingers push harder, “Show me, show me how much you want it so I can see that dripping pussy.”

A breathy moan slips out of your throat as you sit up to push the fabric of your leggings down to your ankles. Katsuki releases his hold on your hair, watching your every movement as his gaze drops down to the essence glistening against your swollen lips. You hear his sharp intake of breath, the air hissing between his teeth as his eyes hungrily take you in before he meets your gaze again. His hooded eyes are a shadowed crimson, the heat rising up to your cheeks as you squirm beneath him.

One of his hands moves to grip the top of your thigh, the pads of his fingers digging into your skin as he slips two fingers from his other hand into his mouth. Your pussy tightens, watching him give his fingers a gentle suck as his gaze locks onto yours. The image is lethal, your breath catching at the sight of his wet fingers sliding past his lips and dropping to your aching pussy to tease your entrance. “Fuck, you’re so fucking wet baby,” he hisses between his teeth, as he pinches your clit, the pressure enough to pull a gasping moan from your throat.

Your eyes flutter closed as you stifle a moan and lean your head back against the wall. His fingers maddeningly toy with you as you hear him unbuckle his belt. Sheer curiosity makes your eyelids hover open as you look down, taking in the size of him, his hand wrapping around his thick shaft and gliding over the prominent veins to his cherried swollen tip, dripping pre. You want to taste him so badly, your mouth begins to water and all you can think about is feeling his throbbing cock inside you. You don’t give a fuck if it barely fits. Your pussy clenches at the thought, wordlessly begging to be stuffed to the brim.

A low growl ripples through his chest, “I don’t even have to look at your face to know your pussy’s begging for this cock.” He thumbs the throbbing head of his dick, swirling the pre around his tip while his eyes bore into you. You couldn’t look away from his gaze if you wanted to, even as his fingers leave your aching core to pull you down with a rough tug at the crook of your legs, forcing your ass to the edge of the desk. He leans over your body, bringing his face inches away from yours, sliding a pre soaked thumb into your awaiting mouth flattening your tongue against his calloused finger. You wrap your lips around it, gently sucking and swirling your tongue, tasting his arousal for the first time.

A low moan rises from your throat, vibrating around him as you watch his eyes darken. He presses down against your tongue, forcing your mouth open as he growls, “Mmm you’re a naughty little slut aren't you...” His words send your insides fluttering, your hands balling into fists as your muscles tighten, your walls clamping around nothing but air as you pout. You don’t give a fuck anymore. Someone could stand directly in front of that massive fucking window and record the whole fucking thing. It doesn’t matter. You want him, right fucking now. You roll your hips, grinding your wet pussy against his hard cock. His dick twitches in response grinding through your slit and hitting your clit sending a simpering moan spilling from your open mouth.

You feel him press harder against your tongue and his voice drops, “Such a fucking tease,” he slides his length through your swollen lips, his heat seeping into you as he whispers, “You want this fucking cock? Let’s see how quiet you can be and maybe, I’ll let you cum.” He releases your tongue, slipping his hand under your shirt to swirl his slick fingers around your nipple. You bite your lip, attempting to silence the whimpers rising from your throat as your back arches at his touch, your hands craving to touch him. You reach up, sliding your hands under the fabric of his sweater as you drag your nails down his back. A guttural growl emanates from his chest as he ruts against you, every ridge of his thick cock sliding into your clit.

You can feel yourself melting beneath his hands, his fingers tugging at your nipples as his body moves down leaving soft bites and licks in his wake. The heat of his breath and the cool kiss of the metal stud in his tongue meets your dripping center and it’s enough to send goosebumps flooding across your skin. In one swift motion he’s on his knees between your legs, the back of your thighs resting on his shoulders and his hands gripping you to pull your plush wet lips closer to his smirking mouth. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m not going to be able to- “Shhhh,” you watch his lips as he smiles, looking directly at you. You swallow the moan threatening to escape your lips but your shallow breaths are giving you away, he fucking knows I won’t be able to take this...

Then, he’s inhaling you, his tongue slipping into your clenching pussy, licking from your entrance to your clit while he looks directly into your eyes as he pulls away, “Fuck. You taste so fucking good.” His voice is heated and low, the evidence of your arousal glistening on his lips as he speaks. The image sends your insides fluttering, your muscles tensing down to your toes as your legs attempt to constrict around him. You’re squirming already but he’s got you pinned, wide open and spread out, at the mercy of his vicious fucking mouth.

He doesn’t give you a chance to catch your breath before he’s latching onto you, his hot wet tongue delving into your silky walls as his piercing vibrates against you with even the slightest groan. You gasp for air, eyes squeezed shut, fingers intertwined in his hair you grind into him, completely blissed out and swimming in the waves of pleasure ebbing through you with every flick and suck. You’re a fucking mess, trying to maintain some modicum of control as he mercilessly swirls his tongue around your pulsing clit. His teeth nestle around it, gently rolling your bundle of nerves between them as he flicks his piercing against you, pulling a low groan from the depths of your core.

He growls, licking your pussy from your clenching entrance to your base of your clit before he looks up at you, “How am I gonna fuck you if you can’t keep quiet with just my fucking tongue, hmm?” The loss of pressure makes you whine, you’re so fucking close. He smirks at you, one of his hands releases your thigh, dropping down to push two of his thick fingers into your warm weeping center. His eyes follow his movements, watching as you take him in, curling his fingers to brush against your most sensitive spot as he slides in and out of you. It’s too much, but you choke down the sobbing whimper cloying in your throat. Your legs shake, breasts heaving as your panting breaths quicken with every thrust of his fingers. You’re biting your lip so hard to keep quiet you might draw blood, but you lean back, putting your weight on your hands to lift your hips and roll into him, letting his long fingers push deeper inside you.

You clamp down around him, your body begging for more; more feeling, more friction, more pressure, you want every little piece of it. You’re at the edge of your control, your mouth falling open in a silent moan as your eyes flutter closed and your head falls back. You can feel him watching you, humming his approval as his other hand releases your leg, “Mmmm, such a good fucking girl with this greedy fucking pussy. You wanna cum for me don’t you...?”

“Yes-yess, pleeease...haah-fuck, FUCK.”

He breathes a soft laugh over your sopping pussy before he devours your soft lips hungrily, lapping up your slit as the rhythm of his fingers speed up.

“Hnnngh...hah-haah, please-fuck, fuck, fuck!”

He’s drowning you, your senses overflowing with the feeling of heat through your body, pushing you to the brink of release. Your pussy clenches around him, his tongue sending sparks through every nerve, punishing you with his thrumming piercing as he moves to sit up on his knees, pushing further into you. He knows you’re close; his hand slides up your body, his nails dragging across your skin until he reaches your lips, sliding two of his fingers into your panting mouth.

He moans into you, making his piercing vibrate faster. Your mouth waters as you wrap your tongue around his fingers, nibbling and sucking on them. You’re a mess, unable to conjure anything except slurred muffled groans around his thick fingers. His lips pull away just enough for you to feel him growl at you.

“Cum for me, right fucking now.”

Fuck...fuckfuckfuck! Your body reacts to his words, wrapping both hands around his arm, digging your nails into his skin as your climax crashes into you. You’re struggling for air but you don’t need it, the blinding light behind your eyelids rippling with the waves of pleasure imploding from your core. He doesn’t stop, his fingers milking your insides, extending your orgasm for everything you’ve got until he slips them out of you, only to delve into your tightening entrance with his tongue, lapping up every drop of your cum.

“So fucking sweet,” he breathes, slipping his fingers out of your mouth, using both of his hands to push the back of your thighs up, inhaling everything you have left as the last tremors spiral out of your body. Eyes closed, floating in the afterglow of your release, you feel him pull your legs back down as he stands in one swift motion. He grips the top of your thighs, roughly tugging you down until your throbbing core kisses the ridges of his dick. Your eyes snap open. Fuck, he’s fucking huge.

Your expression must’ve voiced your thoughts because he expels are a breathy laugh, “You feel that don’t you, how fucking hard I am from tasting your perfect fucking pussy.” His cock twitches against you and your hips roll into him as you moan, gripping the edge of the desk with both hands as you look up at him. Your legs wrap around his waist, tightening from the flush of heat emanating from your core. You want him inside you, to feel the mind numbing combination of pleasure and pain as he stretches you out.

Your voice is a whimper, “Katsuki….please.” You continue to grind against him, your arousal and his dripping pre making you slick and hot. A guttural growl rips through his chest as he leans over you, the palm of his hand slamming on the wall as he brings his lips to your ear. Your body stills, your breaths coming in shallow pants as his muscle toned body presses against you, “Please, what? Tell me what you want, y/n.”

His tongue flicks at your neck, making your words come out in gasps, “Fuck...fuck me...please, please…” Your hands glide beneath the fabric of his sweater, splaying out to pull him closer into you while your nails dig into him. Your back bows off the surface of the desk, tightening your legs around him trying to gain more friction to appease your swollen clit.

“Be a good girl,” he breathes into your ear, “ and control that pretty mouth of yours or I’ll have to do it for you.”

You bite your lip, your need for him coiling inside you as you feel him push himself up far enough for you to feel him hovering over you. Your eyes meet and his hand moves to position himself into you. The head of his cock presses against your soaking entrance, slowly slipping into you as you fight the low moan rising from your throat. He hisses between his teeth as he watches you, “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” Both of his hands press into the desk, his arms caging you in, as he looks between your bodies, watching himself ease into you inch by inch. He’s already stretching you out, your velvet walls clenching around him as his wet cock slides inside of your clenching pussy. The muscles in his arms tighten, his body tensing as he begins to move his hips, pushing further into you.

“You’re clamping down on me and I’m not even all the way in yet,” he smirks at you, watching your face flush as your pulse quickens. Fuck...he’s going to fucking break me. But you’re too far gone, you want him, and your body speaks for you, lifting your hips as your nails claw into his back. A growl rips through his chest as his head dips, bringing his forehead to yours, “You want it? Okay then…”

Before you’re able to take another breath, he snaps his hips, pulling a yelp from your mouth when he bottoms out inside you. “Fffuck, you feel so fucking good.” You’re whining, struggling to accommodate his size but relishing in the mind numbing feeling of fullness your pussy was already becoming addicted to. “Not so cocky once that pretty little cunt is fucking full, huh?”

The only response you can offer is a whimper as he starts to move. He rotates his hips, grinding deeper into you, the tip of his cock brushing against your cervix. You turn your head, your eyes squeezing shut as you try to stifle the sounds rising from your throat. Your open mouth meets his arm and your teeth sink into him as he pulls out just enough to slam back into you hitting your limit. It takes everything in you not to cry out, but the pain is dulled by the overwhelming feeling of pleasure each deep powerful thrust rains down on you.

“Haah-hah, fuck baby, you’re taking me so well.” His movements find a rhythm, rolling his hips again and again filling you to the brim with every snap. The curve of his cock pushes his tip against your most sensitive spot, stirring your insides, making your body temperature rise with every panting breath. The feeling is intoxicating, drunk on the way your bodies move together, every nerve firing, desperate to drink him in more. You roll your hips, taking the full impact of every merciless thrust, your breath hitching as you choke back a sob. Your nails drag across the span of his back as you hear him hiss through his teeth. His muscles tense, back arching as a growl vibrates through his body. “Ah- FUCK. Ooooh, you want it don’t you. Yeah? You want it?”

“Katsuki, please, I want- I want more.” You’re a sputtering mess, your walls fluttering around his hard cock as he pushes off the desk, gripping your thighs in both of his massive hands. He pulls you further down bringing your ass off the edge of the desk. Your body is completely at his mercy as he pushes deeper into you, his fingertips digging into your skin as his pace speeds up. You don’t have time to adjust to his movements, he drives into you, snapping his hips, impaling you over and over.

“Ahh-ah-fffucckk,” you moan, failing miserably at staying quiet, it’s fucking impossible. It feels too good, you’re too full, overflowing with the sensations pulsing through your body. You grab onto the edge of the desk, fingers gripping the wood as his heavy sack smacks against your ass. “Mmmm,” he growls, What? Can't fucking take it? Fuck- cant control that slutty fucking mouth can you? Pussy drooling all over my fucking cock.” He lifts your shirt with one hand pulling it up to your open mouth and you immediately bite down, the fabric doing everything it can to muffle your stuttering moans.

“That’s right. Such a good fucking girl,” his fingers trail down your body, groping your breasts, pinching your nipples as every ridge of his cock fills all the space you have inside you. “Fuck- your so fucking sexy baby- you wanna cum don’t you...keep biting down on that fucking shirt.” You’re so close, so fucking close, the coil in your core threatening to snap. He feels you clamp down on him, moving one hand to press down on your stomach and the other to your throbbing clit.

The pressure pushes your spot against his dick, his punishing thrusts slamming into it every time as he rubs maddening circles around your clit. “Hnnnnf-hnnnngh!” Your shirt muffles your sobs as you squeeze your eyes closed, the tears prickling at the corners as your back arches, your head thrown back as far as it can go. “Fuck yes- cum on this cock baby...cum for me.”

His words are your undoing, any ounce of control you have left exploding into the myriad of colors flashing behind your eyes. The thin thread at the base of your spine snaps, catapulting you into the stratosphere, overheating and gasping for air. The feeling saturates you, expelling any and every thought your mind could attempt to conjure. You squeeze your legs around him, every muscle in your body tightening as your pussy clamps down on his throbbing dick.

“Fuck- FUCK-mmmm, get ready to swallow every drop of this fucking cum baby.” His voice washes over you, the waves of your orgasm still rippling through your body as you feel him slide out of you. He hooks a finger in the neckline of your shirt, pulling you to sit up as he steps back between your legs. Your eyes land on his straining cock, slick from your arousal and the dripping pre his hand is fisting up and down his shaft. “Open...your fucking…mouth.”

You want to taste him, your mouth waters watching his cock twitch in his hands. Your body is so fucking spent, your legs would give out if you tried getting on your knees. You push your ass back, hinging at the hips and leaning forward, looking up at him through your lashes as you hold your tongue out of your open mouth for him. “Ughggh, fuck,” he groans, watching you as the heat from your breath caresses his dick.

His hand moves faster, his breath catching as his muscles tense. “Fuck-FUCK- you’re so fucking sexy baby, you’re gonna take all this fucking cum aren’t you...yeah? Show me...wrap those lips around my dick baby.” Your insides flutter as you swirl your tongue around the swollen pink head of his cock, tasting the mixture of his pre and your arousal. You inhale the intoxicating scent of him before hollowing your cheeks and taking in as much of him as you can. “Hah-haah, just like that baby-FUCK.” He moves his hand from the base of his dick to the back of your head, your eyes widening as he starts to thrust into your mouth.

His other hand rests under your throat, holding you still while he face fucks you. A low moan rises in your throat, vibrating around his cock as his uneven breaths melt into groans and hisses. “So fucking perfect,” he’s panting, his voice raspy and rumbling, “Taste your slutty fucking pussy on my cock baby?- haah-hah- all this cum I’m gonna shoot down your throat’s cus’ve you.” He’s thrusting harder, his pace speeding up as he stretches you out, hitting the back of your throat. You gag around him, your saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth as tears begin to fall, “Choke on that cock baby, that’s right- take - all of it- fuck, Fuck-FUCK!”

The hand on the back of your head fists your hair as he throws his head back, all of his muscles tensing up as he bucks into your mouth spraying hot thick ropes of cum down your throat. You swallow every drop of him, his chest heaving with his heavy breaths as he slides his dick out of your mouth and pulls your hair, making you sit up. His lips crash into yours, his tongue lapping into your mouth, tasting the remains of your combined arousal. He releases the grip on your hair, bringing his hand down to your cheek. His touch is surprisingly gentle as he pulls you in further, sighing into you before he pulls away.

You look up, your gaze meeting the smirk on his face before noticing the smug fucking look in his eyes. You roll your eyes, curling your lips into a grin, “What’s that look for?”

“You had a hard time staying quiet in public,” he says, smiling mischievously at you. “I’m wondering what you’d sound like if I fucked you somewhere else.”

Your eyes narrow. How is he still such a sexy fucking asshole. “I wouldn’t mind testing that theory,” you say, smirking as you lean in, looking up at him, legs dangling off the desk.

"Tch," Katsuki eyes you, his scarlet eyes scanning your body as he steps out from between your legs, pulling his pants up and buckling his belt. He looks over at you, "Then, I don’t know what you’re still sitting there for. I’ve gotta clean up the mess you made.”

You grin at him, the irony of him fucking you until your neighbors can hear you screaming almost makes you laugh, pushing the thought of your class project completely out of your mind.

Tags: @sweet-darling91 @aztecbrujeria @tarot-milktea I love you guys 💜 If anyone else wants to be tagged lmk :)

[writefightandflightclub]

At ease, soldier (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader)

What is this? This is 8/10 one-shots/blurbs for my “friends to lovers” event. (More deets in pinned post). The prompt is “I’ve never seen you dressed-up like this and **** you’re hot.”

Summary: when Santi moves in with you following his divorce, he didn’t anticipate seeing you in THAT DRESS. It does things to him, and has him reevaluating everything he feels for you, and everything he thinks he knows about home.

Author’s note: this has divorced!dad!Santi, so it’s a bit different (marriage / child not with reader). This might not be my best thought-out one-shot ever, or my best portrayal of Santi, but it is what it is. I personally think the thing reader does is adorbs, fight me if you disagree :P I really hope you like it! <3 Thank you as always for reading, commenting, and sharing. It means the world.

Rating: M/E (18+ ONLY, Minors do not read or interact. Thank you.)

Word count: this is not as long as some of the others! Hurrah!

Warnings: masturbation (m); Santi has super sexual thoughts about reader and they’re not together- they are written but not said out loud. theme of divorce but not too angsty. few mentions of shared custody / parenting (not reader’s child). Food mentions. Swearing. Kissing. Lmk if I missed any.

GIF: @realoscarisaac​

Tagging: @isvvc-pvscvl​ @anetteaneta​ @stardustkenobi​ @casifer-is-king​ @foxilayde​ @tlcwrites​ @aellynera​ @kindablackenedsuperhero​

“Hey, look. Thank you for this,” Santi says, softly and sincerely as you cross him again in the hallway, halting you with a hand on your shoulder. The heat from his palm bleeds through the thin fabric of your t-shirt and you consider wresting yourself sharply away from the pleasant torment of him. At the same time, you consider leaning in to his warm chest and staying there, so help you, curled like a leaf against the sturdy trunk of him.

He’s moving in with you, following the long, drawn-out process of his divorce. It has been a long time coming, but his marital house -which he has lived in alone going on a year - has finally been sold-off and split with his ex. And so, here he is, treading lightly and making himself small in your home - as if this isn’t somewhere he’s been loud and brash and welcome ever since you bought the damn place.

You can tell he’s grateful. He’s expressed it enough times. It’s the apology in his eyes you can’t stand - as if he’s some kind of burden. He’s been through a lot, but you want him to walk tall, instead of stooping under the weight of his “bad decisions”. He blames himself for a lot of things that you don’t think he ought to, not least the collapse of his marriage. She had cheated; although, he insists there were problems long before that. Perhaps even right from the beginning. He’d always been a travelling soldier, and even after he was discharged he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

“I promise. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I get back on my feet,” he adds, self-consciously smoothing a hand over his scruff.

You smile softly. His promises still mean something to you. Even if he hadn’t seen through the promise of his marriage, you know he had tried. You know his word is never given lightly.

It’s hard. To start again, all over again. You know. You, yourself, were rattling around in a house too big for one, bought for two, perhaps meant for more - but that hadn’t worked out either. You’d had to forego promises you made as well.

“There’s no rush. Honestly.”

There isn’t. Between the legal fees and alimony, and carving up his assets, Santi needs a little time to get his finances together before he can consider his own place. You’re happy for him to take all of the time he needs. Out of the options available to him, you had been both the preferred one, and the last to offer. The other boys don’t have space. He’d considered a houseshare, but he needed somewhere his little daughter, Ava, could still come to stay on weekends.

You have space. Ava adores you. You were spending a lot of time with Santi anyway. For all those reasons, it was a no-brainier. You’d only hesitated so long in offering due to your impossible, undying love for the man. Did you really want to do that to yourself? To torment yourself with him, in your home?

“It’s no problem at all, but I do need you to haul this stuff inside a little faster, okay? I still have a date tonight, slowpoke.”

“You got it, boss.”

You chuckle, punching him playfully in the tricep, and traipsing out to the lawn to pick-up another box.

Perhaps it was ludicrous to go on a date tonight, of all nights, but at least you admit to yourself that it is an exercise in majorly over-compensating. It is some conscious attempt to signify how Not Into Him you are, and you are hoping -if the guy is cute enough and the sex is earth-shattering enough- that perhaps you could even convince yourself.

Aside from your well-established feelings for him, this whole arrangement is pretty dangerous. Santi is too easy to be around, and if you let yourself sink into the cosy bubble of his company, you fear you will never think to look for anyone else again. Whilst that would be just fine with you - Santi, on the other hand? He’s never been interested in you like that. Probably hasn’t ever entertained the idea of it. Besides, the timing between you two - even if there was something there- has never been quite right. There was always some mission or woman or man or bad decision getting in the way.

You sigh, as you bend and pick-up a box, feeling like your date is already doomed as thoughts of Santi swirl relentlessly in your head.

You can hope, perhaps, that it won’t turn out to have been a terrible decision to invite him into your home. Perhaps living with him will even help you get over him, once and for all, in a way that nothing and no-one else has managed to. You could discover all of his annoying habits and start bickering over whose turn it is to take the bins out until you hate each other, perhaps? However, somehow you think this is unlikely - when you’d broken up with Malik, Santi’s presence in your house had gotten you through. His laugh and his warmth had curled into every corner of this structure and nestled there, driving out all of the cobwebs. Santi made this house a home again, before he ever lived in it. In a way, you dread to think what will happen now.

“Make yourself at home, okay?” you encourage - this time as you cross him on the landing. “Put your stuff wherever. Take up some space. Hang your guitar above the fireplace. Hell, get a new one. Hang that too.” That had been a point of contention with her. “Paint your bedroom black, like you always wanted when you were a kid, whatever you want.”

Santi smiles warmly at you as he gets the message you’re so desperately trying to hammer home. You don’t want him to shrink himself into a corner. You want him to be at ease here. You want him to feel welcome.

With words escaping him, Santi’s hands wind around the back of your head, and he casually leans over, planting a quick but heartfelt kiss of gratitude, right in the middle of your forehead. “I love you,” he says freely, and, as he trots abruptly down the stairs, you only wish he meant it in the same way your heart sings its reply.

You do want him to relax here. He’s carried so much for so long. He’s carried it halfway around the world and back again, and the man deserves the break.

****

“Can I ask your opinion?” you call through his new bedroom door, cracking it and poking your head in as he responds affirmatively.

“Sure, come in.”

Santi watches as your body follows the path of your head, the slow reveal of your striking dress oddly tantalising, and sending a subtle surge of heat through him which he wasn’t prepared for. 

“How do I look?” you say apprehensively, holding out your palms before doing a little half-swivel, one hand poised on your hip.

Santi’s extremely conscious that his eyes widen, and he swears he must look like a cartoon, feeling like they’re popping out of his head in surprise when he clocks you.

You’re wearing a form-fitting, flattering dress. It’s long, and it hugs you perfectly where it touches, with subtle hints of leg and cleavage where the luxe material gives way to soft, inviting skin. Your hair and make-up are different than usual too, and you really look the whole package - so much so that Santi takes a minute to form a coherent thought, beyond the low whistle he expels when he sees you stood before him.

Shit - he knows it has been too long since he said anything, and yet all he can muster from his slack jaw is a feeble croak.

Wow. Holy shit.

Santi is a little thrown. Your body looks amazing. You look sultry and sexy, and like sex-on-legs, if he’s honest. He tries to think or speak, but he’s not sure if he’s ever seen you dressed-up quite like this, and you have him feeling more than a little stupefied.

He gulps.

It’s not as though you look transformed, or anything. You’re an attractive woman, always, and the dress simply highlights that. No change there. But the way he’s responding to you is something new, and not something he entirely understands. Perhaps he simply became so used to seeing you clad in fatigues and sweats and overalls, usually covered in mud and sweat and blood. Perhaps he’s spent so long schooling himself into believing you’re someone he couldn’t and shouldn’t hit on -his friend- that he simply buried it. Buried it under his missions and his marriage and his house and his divorce. But now that all of those things are gone, and all the silt stirred-up, perhaps there is space for it to resurface? Now that, for the first time in a long-time, he feels at ease, and, here you are, looking like that?

Oh boy. His eyes trail over you further as though he can’t get enough. His gaze snags on the places the dress clings to you, providing a subtle outline of your form. He lingers on the places where you’re practically busting out of it- he likes those places especially.

He likes it a little too much, he realises, as he experiences an involuntary rush of blood to his cock, and he subtly rearranges his hands in front of him to disguise the fact as he stands to attention for you. 

Fuck, what would Frankie say? Santi thinks, as he reaches for literally any wholesome thought where none seem to exist - in his mind nor his vocabulary - while he’s looking at you.

“You look nice,” he manages to say, but that’s not how he’s phrasing it in his head. Not at all.

I wanna shove my tongue between your thighs, honey. I want you to slip those red lips down on my dick until you drain my balls dry.

“Nice?” you bristle. “Nice, Santiago? I don’t want to look nice.”

“How do you want to look?”

Naked, on my bed? Or, maybe that dress hitched all the way up. Those juicy hips of yours being marked by my hands as I bounce you on me until I fill you up.

You cross to the cheval mirror at the opposite side of the room, further examining yourself.

Holy shit, you look good from the back too.

Santi may be a lapsed Catholic, but he certainly feels like he needs to visit confession with the thoughts he’s having about you right now. He swears he must have started visibly sweating.

“I don’t know,” you say, softly twirling. “Bangable, I guess? Come on, you’re a straight, hot-blooded male. If a woman turned-up to a date wearing this, would this do it for you? It’s not too much?”

He gulps. “Yes. Yep. For sure. That’ll do it.”

When you flick your eyes back to him, with a soft, humble smile, laced delicately with an inner confidence, he finally has a wholesome thought again:

You’re beautiful.

“I think it’s a little too much... but I guess we’ll find out,” you sing-song, his eyes following your hips as you wiggle back to the door, before turning back to him over your shoulder. “Do you have everything you need before I go?”

He looks at your plush red lips. He licks his own.

I need you on your knees.

Oh well, he’d managed to be wholesome for all of two seconds. That was something.

“I’m good,” he pushes out. “When will you be back?”

“Don’t wait up,” you breeze. “He has a nice pad, so if it works out I think we’ll be heading to his place.”

His place?

Santi can’t help but wonder why he’s suddenly imagining what sounds you might make underneath another man. Hell, whether he could double the intensity of those pretty noises under him instead.

This is not ideal. This is not ideal at all, when he hasn’t even made it through day one.

He hasn’t felt this... aroused in a long-time. Not since long before things went south with her. He hasn’t been this hard for a woman in just as long. He’s been hard in the sense of a mechanical, routine need, sure, where he has the basic need to pleasure himself; but this is something else. This is potent. This is lust, raw and consuming. This is not a general need, but it is startling in its specificity.

As you leave, and he takes himself urgently out of his pants, he understands that this is all for you. Moreover, as he winds his hand around himself, and works his shaft to the thought of you, he has the best orgasm he’s had in a long time.

When he’s done, he has some severe post-nut clarity, feeling guilty that he has moved into your home and spilled himself on your sheets to the thought of you; on day one, no less. It’s not very respectful.

But at the same time, he’s caught in a spiral. It’s like you have flipped a switch in him.

And, as much as he feels a little guilty, and a little terrified by the sudden onslaught of his desire, he feels oddly at ease. He already feels at home.

****

Santi is curled-up on the couch when he hears your key rattle in the door, and you tread in looking just as breath-taking, but a little more sombre than earlier. Having already shed your coat and kicked-off your shoes at the door, you collapse into the arm chair opposite him, your dress ballooning momentarily with a waft of air.

“It didn’t work out,” you explain solemly, answering the question on the tip of his tongue. He flicks off the distracting TV he was half-watching to give you his full attention.

“How?” he asks, leaning unconsciously forward in his seat, his eyebrows raised and mouth curling in a soft sympathetic smile. “There’s no way he didn’t like the dress.”

“Oh, he loved the dress. But I didn’t love him. He was a bit of an ass, actually. I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“You okay? Did he hurt you? Say something to you?” Santi searches your face urgently, his eyes suddenly intense and muscles coiled. “I’ll fucking kill him.”

You lean forward in your own seat and pat him on the thigh. Your perfume wafts over him. You smell delectable. “Stand down, Garcia. You’re fine. I don’t need anyone knee-capped. I’m just tired.” You stand, and his chin tips up to follow you. “Gonna wash-up and go to bed,” you add, tiredly. “Your night okay?”

“Yep. Fine,” he says briefly, more concerned with you. You look a little sad. A little wistful, he thinks. “Think I left my entire box of underwear in ‘Fish’s car. But that’s tomorrow’s problem.” He smiles up at you gently, with those deep, brown eyes of his, as that earns a light laugh from you. He saws his hand over his chin, gaze remaining soft as he watches you disappear and bid him goodnight. You swing around the doorframe as your hand clutches it, a trail of diaphonous fabric floating after you, as though you are a vision which could disappear in a cloud of smoke. It scares him that you would, he realises. He’s usually the one who disappears. Who retreats.

He watches you slink away, his mind already busy, working on how he might pick you up from your slump, and he plods to the kitchen.

You are upstairs in your en suite when he calls in to you, and, once you admit him, he transfers a steaming mug of sleep tea to your night-stand as a little pick-me-up. A small token, but one that makes you gasp in a breath, looking at his thoughtful gesture in confusion and surprise. “Thank you. That’s sweet of you.”

“Don’t sound quite so surprised,” he says thickly as he approaches you where you hover next to the sink. “Just because she ditched me doesn’t mean I’m a total write-off. I do have some redeeming qualities.”

He wraps his hands around the back of your head and he pulls you to him, planting another kiss to your forehead; but this time, in the dusky bedroom light, it hits different. It is slower and softer, and he looks far more comely. It sends a hot flare of yearning through you, blazing into every nook of you.

“I know that,” you say steadily, your fingers and thumb reaching up to play idly with the hem of his t-shirt sleeve. Your fingers brush his arm before you check yourself, turning away from him and towards the sink so that he can’t see your desire catching like a flare - and instead you continue to cleanse the make-up from your face, grateful for the cover the activity provides. “In fact, maybe I should have gone to dinner with you,” you snicker, innocently, before you think of the full implication of your words. “Sorry. I didn’t mean like that...” you hastily backpedal. “Just because we live together I’m not planning on getting ideas.”

“It’s okay,” he says, voice low and steady and soothing enough to halt your ramble. “You can go getting ideas if you want to.”

You whip your head towards him, a gulp trailing down your throat, as you see the vaguest hint of a suggestive eyebrow, of a smug smile dancing at the corners of his lips. You will yourself to remain in place; to avoid the call to lean in to his inviting lips or chest - even if he’s not giving you any signal that he would move away if you did.

You are hot aren’t you? Santi thinks. More than that; you are beautiful too. Now that he’s allowing himself to notice it, he can’t stop noticing it.

Seeking air, and space, the world shrinking to a dot, you tear yourself away from the sink and stride out into the bedroom, posting yourself at the door and signifying it is time for him to head out too. He takes the hint, and he comes to stand opposite you in the hallway, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweat pants.

“How are you doing?” you ask breathily, not knowing what has come over you but trying to push this heady, unravelling feeling away. To bundle it up and bind it back down. “First night in a new place?” You consider it, chiding yourself. “I should have been here. This whole date thing was stupid.”

It’s not a new place at all though, Santi thinks. In fact, he doesn’t think he’s ever been somewhere more familiar. Anywhere more like home. Not even with her - Ava notwithstanding, of course; that little girl is his pride and joy.

When Santi doesn’t answer, his eyes softly glowing at you instead, you reach to fill the silence, lest you fall all the way into the pit of yearning. “Maybe us living together is a bad idea. This is day one and you’re already counselling me through a bad date.”

“What else are friends for?” he smiles meaningfully. Gratefully, again. You can tell what he’s likely thinking. He’s thinking about all the times you have counselled him through years of bad decisions. You’ve always been there for him.

“Right.” Friends, you remind yourself, as the hall-light pools around him like spun gold.

He reaches his sock-clothed foot out to gently bump yours. “Well, don’t take tonight too hard, okay? You’re a catch.”

Feeling bashful, you fold you arms and smile, looking down at the floor and away from the vision that is him.

You kick your foot out to boop his in return, with your sizeable, fluffy slipper. “Well. You’re pretty bangable too, you know. Someone will snap you right up, as soon as you’re ready.” 

Someone.

He turns his mouth downward, and tilts his head to the side. “Hmm,” he says as if considering your point. “Kinda looking for a little more than a bang though. I want someone who can be my best friend too. And... best friends? They’re kinda hard to come by.” 

Your heart hammers in your chest. His tone is casual, but his eyes are earnest, and your desire unravels like spools of red ribbons from your core.

The way he’s looking at you, from beneath his lashes, a smirk developing at the corners of his lips has you almost collapsed to the floor with yearning, and you think, if he doesn’t step away from your door soon, you will find it hard to resist the temptation to drag him inside - if he’s willing. You will be tempted to let these ribbons wind around him and coax him to you.

However, Santi simply lets his comment hang in the space between you as you fumble for a response, before turning away and shuffling down the hall and towards his room. 

“Goodnight, hermosa,” he calls, the pet name lighting you on fire. Beautiful.

“‘Night,” you call back to him, as casually as possible, before disappearing hurriedly inside your door and throwing yourself face down on to the bed with a silent scream.

Santi, for his part, reaches his respective room, and throws himself backwards on to the bed, having to fight the urge to run straight back to your room and kiss you senseless, if he’s honest. As he sighs out a huge breath and brings his hands up to his face, a light chuckle befalls him, and he has to consider what’s so funny. He lands on it quickly.

She - his ex-  must hate this living arrangement, he realises. She’d always thought the two of you had something. She’d insisted. Had gotten mad jealous over it too. In all honesty, Santi had never seen it. Or, not at the time, at least.

Perhaps the timing had never been right.

...Not until now, perhaps?

****

The atmosphere is different in the morning. More settled, thanks goodness.

You’re up earlier than Santi, and you get to work in the smaller guest bedroom, which you had kept off-limits to him the day prior. When you’re ready, you call down to him - he’s in the kitchen getting a head start on breakfast- insisting that he comes upstairs.

He pads up to find you in the hall, stood with a huge smile plastered on your face.

“I have a surprise for you,” you announce to him, and, a curious, happy look blooms over his sharp features.

“Okay,” he says, oblivious, but his interest piqued as you swing the door open and hustle him inside ahead of you, clinging to his t-shirt.

“It’s not finished yet,” you explain from behind him as he moves his head to look around the room, freshly painted and carpeted, and entirely different to how it looked before. “Ava still likes purple, right?” you say to his back, delight infusing your voice as he takes it all in. “Oh, and the birds-“ you point “-the boys and I each painted one. Benny’s is super wonky. I know it’s cheesy as all hell, but we wanted to remind you that you -and Ava- you’ll always have us as family.”

Santi doesn’t say anything. He can’t. He’s speechless with gratitude. It is all he can do to look around the room and take in all of the details. The little bed and princess canopy, the shelves lined with a few books to start her off.

This is something he didn’t dream he would be able to give Ava again for a long time. At least, not without some coordinates and a shovel.

He rasps one hand over his stubble, and you come up beside him, seeing that his eyes are full with tears, and his face pinched, as he fights to supress his emotions. He doesn’t cry often, and there’s not a lot that can reduce him to tears, so you can tell from his reaction how much this all means to him.

Your voice and your manner softening, you slot both of your hands around one of his and give him a squeeze there, before rubbing soothing circles into his back.

When you speak again, your voice is full, cracking with emotion. “I know this can’t be easy, Santi. And you need to know that you are home for Ava, wherever you are, whatever happens. But I thought this would help a little too?” He sneakily thumbs away a tear from the corner of his eye as your words overwhelm him. “I hope I didn’t take too much of a liberty,” you continue, looking around the room, and wandering deeper into it. “Thought I’d get it half-done and then you could choose the rest with Ava tomorrow?” 

You turn back to him, smiling over your shoulder before turning all the way, your expression bright and hopeful and everything he hasn’t been able to muster for himself.

Still choked-up, Santi takes a few steps forward to meet you in the centre of the room, his long lashes beaded with diamond-like tears. He takes your hands in his, one to each side, and he presses his forehead against yours.

“Thank you,” he rasps, his voice full of holes, and your own eyes overflow too as his hands squeeze yours, happy that he’s happy, and sad that he’s in pain too.

After a few moments like this, the yearning creeps in, and, lest it invade everything, you extricate yourself from him gently, padding towards the door and offering, in a soft voice, to give him a minute alone.

“Wait,” he says, his voice catching you as you reach the hallway, evidently yielding a great deal of power for such a breathy thing, and it halts you in your tracks. “Can I try something?”

“Try what?” you ask, your heart and your voice fluttering in tandem, as Santi moves towards you in the hall with purpose.

“Can I kiss you?” His eyes search yours, brimming with emotion and softness and yearning too, his thumb and forefinger coming-up to clasp your chin tenderly in his grip.

“Is this a good idea?” you babble, as his lips hover moments from yours, and you are drawn to him with an achingly slow gravity. “You’re emotional, and you’re rushing and maybe you’re projecting or... maybe a million other things and I... really like you,” you say, raising your hands in between you, your palms pressed to his chest as your voice catches on hooks in your throat - keeping him at a slight distance before you can succumb to him. Immediately, he stops his advances, one hand winding gently around your waist. “Santi, I mean, I really like you,” you elaborate, you voice brittle and coming undone.

As much as you want this -have wanted this-you couldn’t face being one of his whims or mistakes or bad decisions. You couldn’t face being something he ended up leaving behind. He means too much to you for that.

Sensing your pain now, Santi smiles softly at you, not angry or offended in the slighest, but nodding in understanding. Tenderly, he trails the pad of his thumb along your jawline, and across your lower lip. He still finds apprehension in your eyes, and so, instead of the kiss he craves, he holds your head gently with one of his hands, and he dips forward to plant a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead, your eyes fluttering closed and a single tear spilling out of you as it lands.

Then, he pulls back, both of you wearing watery smiles, and feeling more than a little frayed around the edges.

“I get it,” he admits, nodding slowly. “On paper, this seems like another of my bad fucking ideas, doesn’t it? But...” he explains softly, eyes shining at you. “I feel as though I finally have things figured out. I feel like I know where I’m supposed to be.”

You nibble on your lower lip, a tentative, shy smile brewing. “Guess that was one powerful dress I wore last night, huh?”

“Hmm,” he considers, with a gentle chuckle. “It was, for sure, honey. Honestly though? This sports bra and overalls get-up is doing it for me too,” he admits, with a lopsided grin, nodding down at your DIY outfit. 

You examine his eyes in disbelief. You can’t believe that he’s looking at you like that. Like you’ve always wanted; and yet... you essentially knocked him back, your nerves and anxieties getting the better of you, despite his lips being moments from yours.

“Look, I’m sorry,” you gulp, eyes heavy with apology.

“Don’t worry,” he says, tilting his head towards the end of the hallway. “Let’s go make some more coffee. Also, I think you deserve some pancakes, sweetie.” He offers his hand to you and with a gentle song in your heart you take it, Santi leading you back downstairs into the kitchen.

You giggle, suddenly giddy as you shake out your remaining nerves and shock and doubts. As you settle.

By the time you watch Santi open-up the cupboards and search inside, turning back to you to ask if you want chocolate chip pancakes, a tiny note of delight in his eyes, he finds you looking at him with a gentle heat, brewing and eddying and clasping him in its tendrils, dragging him under with you. It causes him to double-take as he looks between you and the food-stuffs, until you have his whole attention. Until the world around him shrinks to you.

“Santi,” you suspire, tugging on his t-shirt to spin him towards you, your voice shaking like a leaf. “You took me by surprise up there. Any chance we can... C-Can we... try that again?”

A gulp trails down his throat, mirroring the heat sinking and settling into your core, even with the mere anticipation of his lips brushing against yours; of feeling his warmth where you have long been cold. You watch his tongue darting out to whet his lips, and it is as though you are already parted for him with the motion, your own lips already spread to accomodate the way he will delve into you, opening you up for him.

Then, Santi surges forward, hands holding you securely yet softly at your back and gathering you to his mouth, as if he is parched of you, all the yearning collapsing in on itself in one final surge as he flows into your arms. Yet, for all the force of your yearning meeting in the middle, and for the harsh initial crush of your lips, when the wave crashes, it is delicate and soft, his hand cupping your face and his tongue a delicate interlocuter, uttering promises against yours. Promises you are sure he will keep.

As the kiss deepens, you truly feel him, hard and sturdy everywhere around you except for this molten, supple tongue which courses into your being like a trail of fire. His kiss is like starlight tossed into a dark pit. You are lit but your hunger will never be sated; and instead you will kiss him and devour him again and again, opening yourself up to him to feed the dark.

Suddenly, with this kiss, his warmth is on you and filling you and one with you, unravelling, and you wonder what you ever did without it. How you ever felt at ease with this yearning within you; although, you suppose you didn’t. You suppose you longed for this divine quickening and stilling, this slickness and friction. You longed to feel him, and most of all, you longed for him to yearn for you in return.

And, finally, as the kiss wanes and you hold each other tightly, Santi considers that although he planned to stay in your house for a mere few months, he has a feeling his stay by your side will be far longer. And, on your side, as you hold him against you and this house feels like a haven in ways it never has before, you are content in the knolwedge that your travelling soldier is finally at ease.

Finally at home.

A home for one, but meant for more, finally fulfilling its purpose.

[themandylion]

97 & 41 jaytim

Oh wow, this ended up long. /o\

97 (Time Travel) + 41 (First Kiss) + JayTim

He's boosting tires in the Bowery when the thugs find him. Crowd him up against a wall and threaten him with bodily harm for horning in on their territory, even though this part of the city is a free-for-all, with no one reigning supreme. There's three of them to his one, all of them full-grown men with bulging muscles and nasty tempers and Jason knows he's in his final moments, that there's no way he's escaping this. Still, that doesn't mean he's going to go down without a fight. He squares his shoulders, plants his feet, raises the tire iron in his hand, and—

Between one blink and the next, the back-most thug is on the ground, groaning and clutching his crotch. There's a blur of red, and then the next one's down on his knees, the crowbar he was gripping half a block away and the hand that was holding it pinned to the wall by a slim, sharp-edged disk.

Silver flashes through the night, and the final guy collapses in a heap, just sprawled out on the pavement like he's not even human anymore, just a pile of discard clothes over something lumpy and unmoving. Someone lands on his back, light and nimble and impossibly tall. "You okay there, kid?" the new person asks, crouching down so he's at Jason's level and smiling.

"…Batman?" He's only ever seen the Bat from a distance before, but he's heard about the cape and cowl, and this guy has both.

The guy shakes his head. "Nope, not him. I'm his partner, though."

"Robin wears green," Jason feels compelled to point out, because he's definitely seen Robin before, though always on the TV, when the Teen Titans are fighting really scary bad guys elsewhere in the world.

This time, a shadow seems to pass over the man's face, sad and unhappy. "I'm a different kind of Robin. Red Robin. I'm pretty new, it's not surprising you haven't heard of me." He leans back on his heels and glances around at the thugs, frowning. "I've got to tie these guys up and leave them somewhere the GCPD will find them. Do you think you can get home on your own?"

Jason gulps, staring up at him, at the way all that tight leather and spandex hugs his body. Gee whiz. "Yeah, I. I can take care of myself. Thanks!" He surges forward, practically smacking his mouth against Red Robin's cheek, before running off into the night. Maybe not headed home, but to as close as anything gets, these days.

---

Two weeks later, Batman catches him boosting tires on Crime Alley. A week later, he's going home with the man. Jason asks about Red Robin and gets a confused, clueless look, which is strange. With everything else happening, he forgets about the man in the black cowl with the silver staff, but he still finds himself drawn to that one particular shade of red.

---

He forgets until the memory is jarred out of the deepest depths years later on the other side of the multiverse, when he's bound to a chair and staring down the barrel of gun. A gun held by another Batman, a different Bruce. One who did all the things he thought he wanted his Bruce to do, only to end up a broken man as a result. Jason tries to explain himself and his presence, but it's hard to when he keeps seeing that suit in the case over this Batman's shoulder.

They reach an understanding, a kind of peace. Both of them, finally, for the first time in ages. This other Bruce offers him the suit, and Jason doesn't think twice before putting it on. He's traveled across the multiverse, seen places where dead people live again, where evil people are good and vice versa. It's not too far a stretch to believe that somehow, he's going become his own childhood hero.

When he finishes pulling on the last piece, Bruce looks on him with pride and announces, "Red Robin lives!"

"Red…?" Jason murmurs, more than a little startled. It's been so long, he'd nearly forgotten the name, but it fits, it makes sense. Finally, he's back on the right path, back to being someone the boy he once was could be proud of. Will be proud of, when their paths cross again, which he's sure they will.

---

The other Batman dies.

---

They get back, finally done traveling across the multiverse, fleeing across Apokolips, running from plagues and maybes and might-have-beens. Donna and Rayner return to wherever they call home, and Jason... He thought he finally found himself when he put on the cowl and became Red Robin, but with everything that happened after that moment, all the contrition he gained has been too long stewing in a half-broken heart. He isn't sure who rescued him when he was a kid, but it wasn't him, and it wasn't the long-dead Jason of another world. Maybe it was no one at all, and he made it all up and convinced himself it was real.

He runs back to Gotham, strips off the cape and cowl, the bandoliers and leather. Throws it all in the trash and goes to knock some heads and blow off some steam, anything to escape from what the rest of the Justice League brought with them—a sob story and a broken, days-old body.

---

The suit disappears from the can where he threw it, and he thinks good riddance to bad rubbish, but the person who's wearing it now doesn't understand the significance, the legacy. Doesn't know what it symbolizes, a last chance at redemption, a final loss of innocence.

The new kid distracts him, muddies the water and still Jason doesn't see it, doesn't realize what's happening. Even when the kid takes the cowl, adds it to his green-free suit, he doesn't see it.

Jason's too busy fighting, too busy screaming, raging, being angry at himself and the world to realize how things are swirling tighter and tighter, closing in, twining together, weaving themselves in an intricate, impossible mesh that's new and old and always existing all at the same time. The three of them—him and Dick and the new kid—push and shove and fight and scream and grieve in their own ways, trying to figure out who they're going to be now, what the world is without Bruce.

He ignores overtures of friendship, leaves the kid broken and bleeding out and thinks nothing of it, still too busy hurting and too busy denying he hurts.

Thinks nothing of Robin back on the streets in red and green and black and yellow, a different boy, an actual child.

---

Bruce comes back, but he's just as stubborn as always, and Jason burned the last of his bridges while the old man was playing possum. There's nothing left for him to do but lurk in the shadows and grit his teeth and watch Drake bounce around the city in a costume that isn't his, telling himself he doesn't care, that it doesn't rub him the wrong way.

Doesn't actually realize what's happening until one day he's watching as Drake races across the city, ready to step in and stop him if he dares to cross into Red Hood's territory when suddenly—

There's no one. The roof's empty, not a soul in sight.

He swings over, investigates. There's a strange acrid smell in the air along with the faintest traces of sweat and exhaustion, but there's no clue to where he's gone, no hint. Minutes pass and the sky is getting darker as evening turns into night. Just when he's given up, Drake reappears, but still, unmoving. One hand grasping his staff while the other touches his cheek and he stares into nothing, dazed and unfocused.

His attention snaps up, and Jason is too startled to move, still standing there in the middle of the roof, the two of them locked in place.

"Holy fuck." He can't. This isn't—

He's tried to kill Drake multiple times over the years. They've barely had a conversation that hasn't ended with Jason drawing a knife or a gun, and more often than not he comes out on top. Leaves the guy knowing that he's alive at Jason's mercy.

But now he's standing there, finally grown into the Red Robin suit and name, filling it in all the right places, all the right ways, grasping a staff that Jason somehow failed to recognize until this exact moment.

"I never—" He never thought to make the connection, always assumed it had to be someone else, some one huge. Big enough to match the larger-than-life figure that dominated a half-forgotten memory.

"Huh." Red Robin collapses his staff, clips it his belt. "Random time blip? I didn't even realize."

Which would explain it. Of course he didn't realize—no way would he have helped that other, younger Jason if he'd known who it was. Why save a boy who's going to grow up to become a monster bent on destroying him over and over again. "Sorry," Jason says, startled, confused, unable to wrap his head around it all as he stumbles backwards, tries to do what he always does when he's confronted with too much, too fast—run.

Red Robin—Drake—tilts his head to the side and then does something completely unexpected. He shoves back the cowl and studies Jason with cool, clear eyes. "I have a feeling this has been a weird night for both of us. You could stick around. We could figure this out together."

So help him, Jason hesitates. "Time travel is pretty weird."

"I was thinking more being kissed by my childhood crush. But yeah, that too."

"Your… what?"

"Come on," he says, holding out a hand. "I think it's time we finally talked. Maybe without the death threats this time?"

Gulping, Jason takes that hand in his.

It's not much, but. It's a start.

(The Fanfic Trope MASH-UP is still open for asks!)

[cuddlepilefics]

Motion Sickness

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Jeongin

Caregivers: Stray Kids

Prompt @sicktember

No one's POV.:

Stray Kids had just finished a photoshoot, which had lasted most of their day. Not having eaten at all that day for the fear of looking bloated, they were understandably hungry. The drive back to their dorm would take another three hours, so none of them felt like having dinner at home and decided they'd stop for food somewhere close by before heading home. Checking google maps, Hyunjin found a cozy looking diner not too far away, which looked pretty promising. It certainly didn't disappoint, the atmosphere being calm and since there weren't many customers there, they could have some privacy. They went all out, ordering different dishes to treat themselves after going hungry for so long. Having fun with his friends, Jeongin didn't pay much attention to what he ate. He tried most of his hyungs' dishes too and soon found himself more than full. Maybe he had overdone it a little but he hadn't eaten all day, so it shouldn't be too big of a deal. At least they didn't have anymore schedule for the day and only had to get back to the dorm. Filing into the car, the maknae sat in the backrow, squeezed between Minho and Seungmin. Before they knew it, they were off on their way back to the dorm with the mood still light as the trio in the backrow teased each other as well as the rest of their friends. Chan only rolled his eyes, realizing that it had been a bad idea to let the three most savage members sit together for a drive this long.

It was only half an hour into the drive though, when Jeongin started to grow quiet. He was sweating a lot as the interior of the car felt overly stuffy. Thinking the air conditioning might have been turned off, he asked: "Am I the only one who feels really hot and uncomfortable?" Worried, Chan glanced into the rear mirror and frowned: "The aircon is running on the highest setting, it's pretty chilly, at least in the front." – "Back here too", Minho agreed, when Chan turned his eyes back on the road. "You okay, Innie?", the dancer asked quieter, only for his dongsaeng to hear. The maknae nodded and when Minho touched his forehead, he didn't have a fever, so the topic was dropped soon. While the group slowly forgot about their youngest's discomfort, Jeongin felt progressively worse. His stomach had started to churn and his shirt clung to his back from how much he was sweating. When Seungmin rested his head on the boy's shoulder, Jeongin moved away a bit and shook his head. He was too hot to be touched right now. By now, the maknae was certain that he was getting carsick. It hadn't happened to him in a long time, so he hadn't expected it to happen today but considering how much he had eaten before they got into the car, it did make sense. Closing his eyes and taking deep breaths through his nose, all Jeongin could think of was: 'I shouldn't have eaten before riding this long.'

Seungmin was starting to catch on too, the younger's pale complexion was a dead give-away. His suspicions were confirmed when Jeongin spoke up ten minutes later: "Chan-hyung, could you roll the windows down? I feel a bit sick." The maknae hated speaking up about not feeling well, so Chan knew he had to feel more than a bit sick. The leader rolled the windows down and glanced back at his dongsaeng. "Do you need me to pull over?", he asked worriedly, afraid their youngest was downplaying his struggles as always. Jeongin shook his head and closed his eyes again, while Seungmin placed a comforting hand on his knee. Hoping he'd be able to go to sleep, the maknae rested his head on his youngest hyung's shoulder. He tried his hardest to relax, sneaking a hand under his shirt to palm his unsettled stomach. His attempts were futile though, napping becoming impossible as he felt queasier by the second. His mouth was already watering but he was determined not to get sick in front of all of his hyungs. Hearing the youngest groan as he moved his head from Seungmin's shoulder to Minho's in an attempt to get comfortable, Chan glanced back and asked worriedly: "How ya holding up, Innie?" – "I'm starting to feel pretty sick back here", Jeongin admitted shakily. He swallowed a few times to get his stomach to stay down but was also sweating more and more. At this point, he was getting more certain that he'd have to be sick sometime. "There won't be another rest stop for the next thirty kilometers but I'll pull-over as soon as possible to give you a break, yeah?", Chan promised. Nodding with his eyes closed, Jeongin prayed that he'd last that long.

Two minutes later, he knew that he wouldn't last that long. Sitting up straight, he asked shakily: "D-Do you have a bag or something? I-I think I'm going to be sick." Chan hurriedly reached over to open the glove box. "There must be a plastic bag in there", the leader stated, focusing back on the road to let Changbin, who was riding shot-gun, retrieve the bag. It was quickly passed through to the back row, where Jeongin sat with both of his hands clamped over his mouth, taking labored breaths while Seungmin rubbed his back comfortingly. Minho opened the bag in front of his dongsaeng just in time for the maknae to gag into his hands. He had his eyes closed, so the dancer gently pulled at his wrist to move his hands out of the way. Opening his eyes and spotting the bag, Jeongin clutched it and brought it up to his face before pitching forward with a productive retch. "Aww maknae", Minho cooed, steadying the boy's shoulders, while Seungmin rubbed his back. The youngest let out a hoarse whine before throwing up again, the bag growing heavier in his hands. Coughing, he realized he really shouldn't have eaten this much. How was he supposed to stop now that it had started? The car took a sharp turn, knocking Jeongin sideways, and the youngest was glad his hyung kept him steady as he choked up another wave of his dinner. Catching a short break, the maknae sat up and wiped away the tears that dotted his lashes from the strain. Hyunjin turned around in his middle-row seat, handing the youngest an uncapped water bottle but Jeongin urgently shook his head and buried it back in the plastic bag, heaving. The weight of the bag only made him more aware of the amount he had already brought up. Why did he have to overdo it that much?

Jeongin didn't even notice how Chan had pulled into a rest-stop and brought the car to a halt. The members hurried to get out to clear the way for the three in the back row. Seungmin got out first, while Minho continued to comfort the maknae, whispering: "We stopped, do you want to get some fresh air? Maybe standing on solid ground for a few minutes will help." Jeongin nodded and allowed Seungmin to take the bag from him, so Minho could help him out of the car. His head spun dizzily and he had to rely on his hyung to keep him on his feet. The dancer wrapped an arm around his shoulders and led him to a trashcan close by. "Do you feel like you're done?", he asked quietly. Jeongin shook his head, a wet burp escaping him before be bent over the trashcan as more sick spilled from his lips. "Wow, you really ate a lot, hm?", Chan cooed, impressed by the amount his dongsaeng was still bringing up. The oldest took over from Minho and gently patted the maknae's back as he coughed. Swaying dangerously, Jeongin clutched the Aussie's hand to steady himself. He choked up another wave before whimpering: "Hyung, please make it stop." – "I'm sorry, Innie", Chan cooed sympathetically, "Try to take deep breaths, yeah?" Shakily Jeongin did but failed miserably as his stomach wasn't yet done emptying itself. After a while though, he was reduced to dry heaves, which took a few minutes to taper off but when they did, Chan guided him to sit down on a bench close by their car. Hyunjin came over with tissues and some water for the maknae to rinse the taste off his tongue.

Drained from the earlier events, it didn't take long for Jeongin to go to sleep. Luckily, he was able to rest for a while before suddenly sitting up, startled. They only had another thirty minutes till they'd be home but the boy's stomach was rebelling again. Shakily picking up the bag, he squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want this to happen again. Feeling his stomach clench, Jeongin gave a strained cough, that instantly brought up a small wave of sick. His mouth watered before he lurched forward again. Biting his lip in sympathy, Felix leaned forward in his seat behind the maknae and placed a comforting hand on his back. In an attempt to steady himself, Jeongin braced on hand against the dashboard while the other gripped the bag tightly. "You're doing great, Innie. We're almost home", Chan promised with a sad smile, taking one hand off the steering wheel to pat the younger's back. The boy could only groan in response, shaking from the strain. Leaning back against the window, Jeongin closed his eyes and let the bag dangle between his knees. He was certain he'd need it again if they weren't home very soon.

"Feeling a little better now?", Felix asked, walking up behind the bench to massage Jeongin's shoulders. The younger shrugged but relaxed, while the Aussie worked on his tense muscles. Handing the maknae some gum, Jisung commented: "I didn't know you get carsick, Innie?" – "Hm, been a while since it last happened. Just ate way too much earlier", Jeongin hummed, cringing at the memory of his dinner which didn't taste nearly as good the second time. Despite all of them wanting to get home soon, they hung around for some time, none of the members having the heart to force their youngest back into the car. Knowing they would have to continue eventually, Chan crouched in front of Jeongin and studied his pale face before cooing: "How do you feel now, Innie? Ready to continue?" The younger grimaced but he knew there was no way around finishing the rest of their drive. He nodded and allowed the leader to pull him to his feet. Changbin had readily traded seats with him, hoping his dongsaeng would feel better if he sat in the front. They got Jeongin settled with an empty plastic bag in his lap, incase he'd feel sick again later and Seungmin gave him his jacket because the maknae had started to shiver in his sweat-through shirt. By now, Jeongin was mostly tired, exhausted from the whole ordeal after already having had a long day, so as they continued their drive, Felix watched his dongsaeng's head dip down to his chest repeatedly. Taking pity on the boy, the Aussie took off his hoodie and bunched it up to a make-shift pillow. Stuffing it between the seat and the window, he gently guided Jeongin's head to rest against it. He hoped this way, the maknae would be able to sleep through the remaining two hours.

Dizzily dozing off, he didn't notice the car coming to a stop before somebody took the bag from his hands. Chan got out first and disposed of the bag before walking around to the passenger side. He waited for Felix to sneak his arm around the front seat to hold Jeongin, so he wouldn't fall out when Chan opened the door. The leader carefully opened the car door and unbuckled his dongsaeng, who sleepily blinked up at him when he got picked up. "Go back to sleep, Innie", Chan shushed, waiting for the rest of the group to get out. When everyone had gotten out of the car, he carried the maknae to their dorm. Minho was quick to open the door to let them in and Chan went straight for Jeongin's room. Setting the boy down on his bed, the Aussie helped him take of his sweaty shirt and put on a fresh one. Jeongin struggled out of his skinny jeans as well, sighing when the pressure was off of his stomach. When he was changed, he curled up and dozed off. He wasn't fully asleep yet, so he heard some rustling around the room before a hand shook him. Jisung whispered softly: "There's a bucket next to you and some water on the nightstand. Get some rest, Innie." The maknae hummed in reply, going to sleep while his roommate climbed into his own bed after making sure the younger had everything he might need.